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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22919260">Purple Hearts and Green-Inked Summoners</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/speckledsolanaceae/pseuds/speckledsolanaceae'>speckledsolanaceae</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Art of Entanglement [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blindfolds, Bloating, Breeding, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Dubious Consent, Fingering, Humiliation, Light BDSM, M/M, Masochism, Mild Drugging, Nipple Play, Other, Oviposition, Size Kink, Sounding, Spitroasting, Temperature Play, Tentacle Pit, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Threesome - M/M/M, almost entirely consensual but to be careful, brief sadism, narrowly-dodged public humiliation, no permanent effects</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 05:42:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>28,253</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22919260</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/speckledsolanaceae/pseuds/speckledsolanaceae</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A stressed college student walks into his studio apartment.</p><p>There is no punch line, but there <em>is</em> a summoning circle on his floor, and well...he certainly didn't draw that.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Huang Ren Jun/Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin, Huang Ren Jun/Na Jaemin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Art of Entanglement [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696780</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>73</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>626</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnyctzen/gifts">bunnyctzen</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>If I failed to tag everything I should have pls lmk in the comments! I'll be happy to add to them.<br/>If you get squicked, please don't hesitate to stop reading! Your comfort is more important ♡</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jeno nearly thinks he’s entered the wrong room when he opens his door. But no, he checks the private room number and finds it’s still his. When he pulls up naver, he’s exactly where he should be.</p><p>He enters slowly, kicking off his shoes and scoping out the room. It’s not much—it’s just a studio apartment. Tiny kitchenette, barely larger bathroom, a pull-out bed, and very little floor space left where his desk has taken up the rest. But ah, the floor space. The large black marks twining over his faux floors look like they’ve been drawn on with charcoal, and Jeno isn’t uncultured. He knows that’s a pentagram. An incredibly detailed pentagram. If he weren’t deeply unnerved, he might find it rather impressive.</p><p>His windows are closed, blackout curtains pulled. Some of his things that must have been in the way are pushed to the side. There are three unlit candles set in a triangle formation on the very edges of the drawing and a box of matches placed carefully next to the nearest one. </p><p>He feels violated, in a way, but mostly unsettled. First and foremost? Unsettled.</p><p>There’s a long note in the center, but he doesn’t dare toe past the intricate outer circle. That feels like maybe testing superstition a bit too much. Instead, he gathers a pair of clean chopsticks from the sink, spreads his legs wide, and leans to collect it delicately. Under it is a nub of charcoal. The note itself is possessed by a very darling, purple, tiny scrawl—the rounded kind. It looks familiar, but not quite enough to identify.</p><p><em> You’ve looked tense lately! </em> says the note. Jeno is… offended, but begrudgingly accepts the observation. <em> But you seem shy, so we thought maybe this would be better. This is a summoning circle for a sex demon. It’s got tentacles. Which might not be your thing! But we’ve done it and it’s probably the best conceivable fuck you’ll get. All effects are reversible. It’ll show up when you sleep, but this one’s pretty gentle as far as demons go. </em></p><p>Jeno pauses, squints. His skin crawls a little as he tries to imagine what the fuck a tentacle sex demon would even look like. Will it be Lovecraftian? Will he lose his mind? Maybe, but the note says effects are reversible.</p><p>
  <em> Keep this note in a drawer where it won’t get lost if you want to go through with this. If you’re not feeling the vibe, burn this note and everything will disappear with it. Make sure you’re positive though because this took an hour. If you do want to do this, when the demon leaves, new instructions will be written on here. So seriously. Don’t lose this. (Turn over ♡) </em>
</p><p>Jeno turns the note over. The handwriting is different and in green.</p><p>
  <em> To proceed (whenever you’d like I suppose, though don’t do the first step unless you’re sure): </em>
</p>
<ol>
<li><em> Blood chalk: it’s lying on a broken line. Connect it. Set the chalk aside. Also, it’s mine and I promise I don’t have any STDs.</em></li>
<li><em> Candles: light them. Order doesn’t matter, but don’t let them go out once you’ve lit them.</em></li>
<li><em> Words: none. Vocal spell’s already been cast by yours truly.</em></li>
<li><em> Before anything else: make sure the circle is totally clear, unsmudged</em></li>
<li><em> Actions: lick the fingers of your left hand and kiss the center of your palm. Press to very center of circle. Wait at LEAST 20 seconds. Chill out. Scroll through twitter. Blow out candles.</em></li>
<li><em> Voila. Go about your evening. Turn the lights off before you go to bed. Careful not to smudge the outer circle when you pull out your cot. Sleep. Enjoy.</em></li>
</ol>
<hr/><p>Jeno considers, but for the majority of the evening, elects not to choose. He takes a picture of the note on both sides, though, to scour over in case something happens to it. “We thought maybe this would be better” haunts him a little. Had he been at risk of being spitroasted by a duo of demon fuckers? Did they conjure their way into his studio apartment? Has he met them before? What are the “effects” that are presumably reversible? What if the demon steals his note?</p><p>He puts it in a glass jar and stores it in the mini fridge, which he supposes answers the question of whether he’ll do the deed or not.</p>
<hr/><p>It’s edging nearer to midnight by the time he carefully navigates the lines to gather the chalk. It leaves a thick residue against his fingertips instead of a dry, powdery one. He decides not to think about it, and instead applies the dull point to the broken line, connecting the small gap with care. He sets the piece outside the circle, steps aside to wash his hands, then carefully lights the candles. They smell vaguely like fresh linen, if he had to place the scent.</p><p>Licking his fingers feels strange without fried chicken dust to accompany it, but he supposes he’ll live, and he’s kind of past the point of return in terms of weirdness. He kisses his palm firmly, then leans to press his hand to the center. He suppresses the urge to thank god (it seems counterproductive) that he works out, because holding what is virtually a side plank for thirty seconds (just in case) is really not a problem. He zones out in the midst of it, tracing the intricate summon circle with his gaze. It truly does look like it would have taken an hour to draw.</p><p>He gets up slowly and proceeds with the utmost care, blowing out the candles, washing his hands again, then slowly taking out his bed. Never once does he let it touch the drawing on his floor, and he thinks he’ll be really disappointed if he wakes up in the morning and finds he’s participated in a botched summoning or was fooled into something incredibly fake and stupid. He’s never heard of demons being talked about in legitimate circumstances, so he can’t possibly know for sure.</p><p>He doesn’t fall asleep right away. He considers leaving a note somewhere in case he dies—like asking his coworkers to check on him if he doesn’t show up at his shift the following evening. Then again, maybe the demon fuckers will make sure he’s survived. They evidently know how to get into his studio. </p><p>Perhaps against his better judgement, he does not message anyone or write any notes. He’s been tense and tired, and what’s a little death when with it comes relief?</p>
<hr/><p>Jeno jerks awake with a gasp—the kind where his heart is loud in his ears and for a moment he feels like he can’t recognize anything. He settles as he traces the outlines of his furniture, but more startlingly can see something moving under his sheets while he is stalk still. Jerking upright, he throws back the covers and chokes on a noise he’s never made before.</p><p>His brain works too slowly as he drags his legs back, his memory struggling to explain, then landing hard on the summoning circle under his bed. There’s no eerie light or warping shadows, but there is a thick, black tentacle that has curled out from under the frame and is creeping toward him. Which… checks out. It pauses in its venture, and Jeno takes deep breaths before getting on his knees and moving close enough to scrutinize. Long-distance is bad without his glasses.</p><p>Up close, it pulsates slightly and its skin, of sorts, is as dark as the space between the stars. It left a clear residue on his sheets from when it was moving, though now it seems like it’s accepting his scrutiny. Jeno lets out the breath he’s holding, and it must feel his exhale because it twitches once, then responds. It gives off a scent, the tentacle still unmoving. The smell is like nothing Jeno is familiar with—recalls no thoughts and scratches at his olfactory memories with no returns—but is nonetheless appealing, and Jeno is startled into a deep inhale that has him reeling slightly.</p><p>Something warm touches the small of his back where his shirt has ridden up and he recoils, arching his spine inward, gasping another full breath. He twists to witness the touch, and it’s a second tentacle that must have entered through his blindspot. It hovers and pulsates, and when Jeno doesn’t make another move, slides through the air to reach him again. He swallows air and recognizes that the first tentacle must not have stopped giving off fumes because it’s heady and overwhelming. Jeno lets the second touch him properly, and can’t see its tapered tip anymore as it slides slickly under his sleeping shirt and around his waist. It’s comfortably warm, smooth, and he can feel the residue against his skin like a wet sliding kiss.</p><p>Raised on his knees, he doesn’t move an inch, waiting for the tentacle to stop moving. It circles his waist completely, then flexes gently. A sound falls past Jeno’s lips, and the tentacle simply pulsates warmly against his skin. The first tentacle still has not budged, and Jeno’s novel awareness of the scent is already fading. He’s not sure, but he feels as if the eldritch summon is waiting for him to adjust. Shaking, he moves, resting his palms on the sheets, and the second tentacle moves with him.</p><p>Its tip starts to curl further around him, then up his solar plexus as he breathes in the sweet air. His shirt’s a bit short, but otherwise baggy, so he can only see if he looks through the neck with his body on all fours. It shines darkly against him, and he can feel his skin start to tingle where it’s made contact. He watches as fluid drips onto the inner fabric of his shirt from off its slick surface. </p><p>He startles again when he feels a nudge against his ankle from behind, having been far too entranced (and… hazy) by the thick appendage under his shirt to notice anything else. It’s a new tentacle, and it quietly moves up his bare leg when he makes no startled move away from it. He can feel the second tentacle reach his neck and wind carefully. It flexes around his waist again, and Jeno has to blink a few times to ground himself.</p><p>The third reaches the hem of his briefs and slides under the cloth where it’s snug against his skin. Jeno gasps as he feels it efficiently curl around his body and begin to slide the article off, politely avoiding his dick which. Oh. He’s not completely flaccid. That’s… hm.</p><p>The tip of the one around his stomach, chest, and neck caresses the delicate pulse he’s keeping up near his throat. It feels like a curious gesture rather than a threatening one. Jeno moves his legs for the tentacle with his underwear, and is given a squeeze against his ankle perhaps to thank him. He doesn’t know how conscious he should consider the demon, but it’s been oddly polite. He feels somehow more sane than five minutes ago and also a lot more strange. </p><p>Things shift after a few seconds. The third tentacle returns to wind around his freed left leg, and the first tentacle finally moves again, languid. It drips serenely onto his sheets, and approaches his mouth. It does not go further than coming close to his nose, waiting for something. Jeno’s brain lags in the haze, but he watches its tapered tip pull in slightly to dull itself. Watches the appendage narrow and continue to drip. He leans forward, feels the tentacles around his body flex in encouragement, and takes the first one into his mouth.</p><p>When it touches his tongue, his senses fizzle and his eyes try to roll back. He sinks forward into this weird, unfathomable taste, taking it more fully into his mouth, against his tongue, soft and thick and warm. The tentacle around his torso holds him up when he stops using his arms for support. He only laves his tongue against the slick black skin and its ointment—subtle, not too overpowering, but enticing to the point that for a few lagging seconds, he doesn’t think at all. Just sucks on it and lets it… calm him. He can feel his heart slow against the second’s tip.</p><p>He shakes and shudders and then moans when the tentacle in his mouth pulses and pushes just a little deeper, claiming his mouth and nearing his throat delicately. He feels something sweet and hot slide down the back of his tongue and swallows on instinct. Something in his chest tightens, then breaks exquisitely, and Jeno loses himself. He misses his other leg getting entangled. Misses the handful of tentacles joining the ranks completely. He drinks, swallowing more, coating his throat, and is only aware of anything when he feels his shoulder blades touch against something. He’s been flipped and lain on his back, and he can think of no reason why this should upset him.</p><p>The first tentacle leaves his mouth, spilling hot liquid all the way out until it splashes against his chin and he whimpers, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. But it makes sense in the next moment, because he can feel his shirt being pulled up over his head until he’s completely bare. Only the tentacles adorn him, cradling him, warm. </p><p>He slowly becomes aware of how many there are. The silent pulsations of a dozen or more tentacles wrapped around his limbs, swirling, circling. He feels relaxed—the most he’s had been in a long time—and he lets his legs be raised (carefully testing his limits, pushing his knees toward his chest), reminding himself what he signed up for just as he feels a thin tapered tip glide up the sensitive inside of his thigh and right over his pucker. His sex jolts.</p><p>Jeno lets himself whine as it slides against his entrance like a hot, lubed-up shaft being rubbed against him. He tries to relax to welcome it in but it ignores him and continues to rub slowly. Another tip slides against his perineum, then curls around his dick and balls. He can see that happening even as he shudders and blinks, the black extension soft and slender as it wraps around him. Rather than tiny licks of electricity like he normally feels, pleasure spreads up and through him slowly, reaching, unfurling, quiet and intense like his whole body has slowed down.</p><p>And then he is entered. He inhales sharply and lets out a confused keen as the intrusion is so slim but so slick and hot. He can’t compare it to a real dick—it’s too mobile. It reaches, and then stops, and for a moment, he doesn’t notice anything. Then he can feel his entrance start to stretch, and he whispers, “Oh my g—fuck.” He bites down on what feels like blasphemy, lets filth slip from him to match his feelings. The tentacle around his dick starts to slide, and Jeno lets out another swear. The one inside him pulses larger and Jeno writhes for a moment as the weirdest sensation he has ever experienced occurs as it fucking… clears him out. A fucking tentacle enema. He strangles out a noise—can’t see it do whatever it does. Swallows his waste or something. His legs shake. The tentacles slide against him as he’s cleaned from the inside, and he accidentally scratches one of the appendages as he tries to clutch the sheets. It’s uncomfortable, strange, he doesn’t—the first tentacle prods at his lips.</p><p>He doesn’t think. He just lets it in. It leaks down his throat in hot spills of sweet, occupying him until he’s blurrily distracted from how invasive it feels to have this done. He keeps swallowing, and whatever strange throbbing is left behind in his organs from being cleaned out gradually soothes until the one inside him removes itself. Jeno’s whole body relaxes. The one holding his dick loosened and let him flag earlier, and he feels somewhat thankful as the first tentacle slips back out again and once more pours sloppily against his chin and jaw. Jeno regains his breath, succumbing again to the soothing, thorough touches over his entire body excluding his sex.</p><p>And his nipples. Until the very next moment when one is tweaked and Jeno jerks, then whines the beginning of a swear just as he is reentered. His nipples are played while one tentacle slides against the sensitive skin under his navel, and his dick slowly begins to be pulled again, and a thicker tentacle writhes its way into him. It feels the same as a finger, but it’s soaked—he can feel it drool out of his rectum, slicking up his walls as it swirls and strokes the hot flesh there. Jeno goes taut under all the slow arcs of electricity frothing along his nerves, feels every pulse of the tentacle inside him—feels it swell and flex and search until it hits his prostate and Jeno groans, pleasure crackling, flowing.</p><p>“Uhn,” is his only word-resembling sound. He tries to bend and is held strong, so he lets out a new whine with every exhale. His dick is stroked until his balls threaten to tighten, and the tentacle inside him is thick now and still pulsing and teasing, and his nipples are starting to feel fragile. The appendage inside him ebbs in girth and welcomes in a new touch, wriggling against the ring of muscle, and Jeno sees sparks as he comes. The studio apartment swirls, and his cock is held loosely through his own personal pulsations. The second tentacle is entering, growing, and just as he starts to regain his vague feeling of sanity, both start to thrust.</p><p>Each moan is jerked out of him, and it takes him maybe a minute or more before he realizes they’re still growing as they graze the orgasm-sensitive bundle of nerves inside him. He feels stretched. He feels blissed, a little like he’s floating, and fragile. Everything feels hazy and good, and somehow he feels taken care of even as he’s thrust into in perfect, reaching rhythm, grazing deeper each time. He’s hiccuping embarrassing sounds.</p><p>He expects it when the tentacles decrease in size to welcome a third one, but then the process feels downright obscene as a twining trunk of tentacles squirms and twists into him, stretching his hole, stretching his muscles, snug against his walls in every way. Jeno can’t help but be loud in his moan. If he cranes his neck, he can see the dripping appendages thrust and pulse and swell larger, a writhing mass or twisting black that feels way too conceivably large pushing further into him slowly and surely.</p><p>All he can do is whine and moan. He can’t writhe. He can only watch as he’s stretched, as the tentacles around his legs pull him open further. He’s moving with more flexibility than he ought to be. Everything burns and sparks, and then finally it’s too much and it borders uncomfortable, and he comes again. Violently, pathetically. Nothing stops, and the tentacle at his dick squeezes him, milking him, come sliding down one side as he’s jostled and pressed into. Jeno gasps as tears prick his eyes, as his body jerks from the thrusts, as he can see a nudge of movement under the skin of his abdomen. “Please,” he says, overwhelmed in both rapture and nonsensical worry. He almost screams when he feels the three tentacles decrease in size only for a fourth to nudge his abused rim—he would have if it weren’t for the first tentacle shoving its way into his mouth quickly, cleverly, and flooding his tongue.</p><p>Jeno trembles and shakes as this new tentacle swirls around the trio all around his rim, around their girth, writhing gently in and far deeper than anything has ever gone before, and right as his fogging brain starts to fear that it will start to swell, right as his heart picks up against the tip kissing his heart rate, the three tentacles leave and only the fourth remains.</p><p>It bloats almost too suddenly, and Jeno strangles out a noise from around the tentacle in his mouth. He nearly chokes on the fluid it’s sending down his throat in sliding trickles. He bites down slightly and the tentacle flinches back and out, sloshing fluid down his chin and neck and chest, and he cranes his neck to see the massive girth of this single appendage. As just one pulsating unit, it looks unbelievably large, and he cannot fathom how it fits. How it explores and scours him without pain. It sways as it pushes into him, and he gasps in breath after breath at the image while his whole body tingles. And then it’s pulsing, and he lets out a lewd, embarrassing moan as a burning fluid surges into him. </p><p>The tentacle swirls against his walls, painting his insides. The fluid feels thick, it moves up into him in reverse and Jeno’s vision goes weird and spotty as the room spins. He can still see the largest tentacle around his waist and stomach start to loosen, and Jeno is only distantly terrified as whatever the demon has been pumping him full of all night takes over and makes him feel safe and soothed and blissed.</p><p>His vision swims, and he can’t make sense of the suddenly slippery, sopping feel of the tentacle against his stomach. He feels good. Like he’s meant for this even as his insides turn taut, filled like his innards are being caulked and stuffed. It’s wildly unfamiliar, uncomfortable, too-new, but too good. He whimpers at the sensation as a whole. But either he forgets the burgeoning pain or it eases rapidly. </p><p>The flow stops. Jeno whispers a sound, though he’s not sure what it is he wants exactly. At least the tentacle stays, keeping everything in as the viscous fluid continues to disperse through him and smooth out the tension. It flows thickly through his viscera as the tentacle wriggles inside his rim. He’s still impossibly stretched where it remains inside him. </p><p>His middle looks puffy, bulged. His intestines don’t burn, though, and he knows he’s been breached into his stomach. If anything, he feels slightly drunk. Full. Not unhappy. Actually, absolutely content.</p><p>The tentacle slips out, and Jeno can hear the dribbles of… demon <em> something </em>drool out of him and slop in thick droplets onto the sheets. He feels bulky inside, slick, layered, and when he clenches and flexes, there’s a feeble amount of viscid substance oozing and dribbling out of his body. He feels a dry tentacle (nothing like the drenched, weeping state of the one around his waist) rub at his stomach, and it helps, but he still feels absolutely washed and coated. Thick, slow inside. Thick, slow mentally. He moans even with nothing happening, rests limp against the ropes of tentacles and the distant feeling of the sheets.</p><p>Jeno blinks sluggishly as he’s pressed into, and this tentacle is thick right off the bat. Jeno groans, trying to open his legs further of his own free will. Maybe he’ll be filled again. He hopes for it, yearns for it so badly he clenches and opens and keens.</p><p>He gets a partial wish as a new tentacle approaches his lips and slithers down his lax tongue, thin like the one earlier. His lips are slack, but he swallows as it dribbles scarce amounts of what tastes like thick, hot cream and honey. At first it’s just that, but then it continues sliding and his eyes roll back properly this time because it is <em> down </em> his throat and pulsing between his lips and coating whatever’s left of the insides where first effort couldn’t reach. Somehow the tentacle avoids his gag reflex entirely, but it seems to stop the effort just short of his esophagus, secreting, but not coating, and retracting back to the base of his tongue and worming comfortably there. </p><p>He sucks, heart thrumming, and shakes as the large one between his legs finally sinks in further, having paused for the process to finish. He feels it snake up. And continue. And continue. Jeno whimpers, whines, starts to cry again though he thinks it’s maybe from some sick sense of gratitude. His entire brain feels thick, honeyed, comfortable with a haze of potent pleasure, and his insides thrum and spark as it pushes onward into him. When he glances down, his stomach is still being rubbed as he sees the suggestion of a shape writhe inside him. He gives a muffled, drawn-out moan. The secretions that were slicking his skin earlier have either evaporated or sunk in, and his skin bunches with each nudge and push of the rubbing tentacle, stretchy, forgiving.</p><p>The one in his mouth retreats, and another props his head so he can watch as the large one swells a little, stretching him again, and Jeno can see everything clearly. Moaning from the image, the feeling, the ease with which it happens when it shouldn’t. It swells, then contracts, swells, contracts, swells, contracts, and Jeno moans with each swell as his cheeks are stroked free of tears.</p><p>He feels something within the tentacle pass his rim. A few things. Steady and slow but all at once, and then he’s entered by something completely different than a tentacle. Slippery. It—rapidly, they—feel slippery. With each contraction, there’s a pulse of slimy objects that feel no bigger than ping pong balls. Jeno’s slowed mind registers this, watching as his stomach starts to swell again. It gradually begins to bulge in asymmetrical lumps, starting high below his ribs, and with each new intrusion Jeno feels pleasure.</p><p>The amount feels indulgent, precious, the tentacle slowly making its way out, and Jeno belatedly realizes that these might be eggs. They’re lain slowly and in sweet, ecstasy-laced bursts, and Jeno pants tiny breaths and whines with each new spill. They push further into him the more there is given, the tentacle not moving out fast enough to compensate for the amount. He feels his organs move politely for each new egg, skin stretching obscenely, and he pants, sweats, groans as the tentacles around his legs pull him to make room for the widening. </p><p>His vision grays out abruptly, and he can feel himself come in weak threads, though he cannot see past the protrusion of his stomach. Pleasure spins through him, insane, unending, and his body doesn’t seem to know what to do with itself except accommodate and lavish itself in what feels like luxury.</p><p>His stomach has begun to dilate past what it ought to, skin stretching easily. He swells, used, but perfected by a purpose. His breaths come short in new, blissed-out moans. He feels wide, heavy, endowed with something priceless. His stomach is filled, his intestines too, and then dangerously close to his entrance. He can feel the shape of them adjusting, sliding, bunching and demanding more space.</p><p>Something distant in his mind writhes.</p><p>When the tentacle leaves him, he feels one egg slip out immediately and whines loudly. Another two or three leave him and he starts to cry, reaching his hands down desperately to stuff his fingers between his legs and hold them in. He feels fluid and stiff all at once, stretched out and unable to move like normal, though the tentacles release his arms. He can’t reach his entrance, though, panting and moaning and failing in his effort not to weep, but the effort—the movement—does something good. He feels things start to adjust inside of him, then abruptly firm. No other eggs slip out, rooted, clinging, and Jeno lets out a strained gasp of relief. </p><p>Safe, he stares at nothing, experiencing being owned and used. Bred. Made a receptacle. His mind swims, languorous, ripping with pleasure that responds to the happy licks and flares of satisfaction and contentment traversing every inch of his body. He feels, distantly, his arousal leaking feebly. </p><p>He shivers in anticipation when another tentacle slides slick against his skin and prods at his entrance one last time. Jeno whines and spreads himself, swallowing thickly, and is blinded for a moment when he is penetrated and stretched deliciously open again.</p><p>It pumps. It pumps him full of loose, glossy fluid between all the rounded gaps, slopping into all the spaces left. He feels the eggs swell slightly, growing a size larger like golf balls, and feels pure ecstasy as his stomach smooth out perfectly and start stretching wide as well as out. His dick bobs and spurts weakly as his vision pales. He’s been given a lining, been given the eggs, and now is being given the seed. Everything tingles. Jeno can’t make sound except to sigh and gasp. He drools as his head drops back. He can feel his entrance leak with the thinner fluid, dribbling pathetically as it collects between his rim and the black tentacle. He wants to drink it. Know if it tastes like heavy wine, glut himself further on whatever sin this is. But the flow stops when every crevice is filled. </p><p>The tentacle, even as it's done, keeps him plugged. Jeno relishes the feeling, continuing to dribble weakly from his dick, his hole, his mouth, his eyes onto the sheets. The tentacles around his limbs thicken luxuriously and stroke over every bit of skin, wiping away sweat, kissing his lips and prodding at his tongue. He’s caressed, fondled, petted gently like a priceless, pretty, useless thing that’s done its job. Has been exploited to the outer limit and treasured in all his patheticness.</p><p>He is lulled.</p><p>Jeno thinks he slips into sleep. He wakes up with the first tentacle back in his mouth as he suckles on its sweet flesh and swallows thin streams of liquid. He stays happy, full, stretched, and is still plugged by the same sleepy, pulsating tentacle that fertilized him. He drifts, and when he wakes once more, every tentacle is gone.</p><p>He is drenched in sweat and fluid, the sheets soaked. Morning spins watery through the tiny crack in his blackout curtains. Jeno feels stuffed, closed up, just right, exhausted. He moves, heavy, curling up on his side. The eggs inside him slosh and his skin stretches to accommodate, but they stay firmly rooted. He feels euphoria scrape through him, bare, honest, wanting. He passes out again.</p>
<hr/><p>He needs to pee. His clock shows noon and he needs to pee. He shifts his legs, and discomfort and something far too close to pain twining with an insane ricochet of pleasure rasps against his skin and insides.</p><p>Everything crashes into him at once.</p><p>Jeno chokes and gags, abdomen constricting around the eggs lain in his intestines. Not even bile comes up. He’s parched. He’s covered in a film, his skin feels numb. He investigates himself with his heart pounding and finds the delicate sloped outlines of eggs swollen much larger than he remembers, his belly resting against the sheets as he is on his side. When he prods one of the shapes, naked pleasure rips up his skin and he fights for breath. It feels, against his palm, only a size smaller than a tennis ball and squashy rather than firm. Less a separate thing and more something firmly settled, spread happily and relaxed in its new home.</p><p>He shoves himself clumsily out of bed and lands hard on his knees and hands, weighed down and slopping internally. His stomach sags with its load and his spine bends, the skin of his stretched navel bumping the linoleum. The floor swirls something unpleasant even as the eggs jostle from the movement and send ricochets of warmth and fizzling gratification through his body.</p><p>He gags again, blinks the heat of tears that won’t be provided from dehydration. With every movement he makes pulling himself and crawling toward the kitchenette, lewd, impossible hedonism slips through him. He holds his belly to keep it from grazing the floor or bobbing or swaying obscenely, and it's vaguely pillowy instead of tight. The eggs like being held and he whimpers from cloudy swirls of exhilaration trying to take over his brain. He sweats and pants and gasps trying to move in small increments.</p><p>Even as he’s horrified, he’s completely hard by the time he has his hands around the bottle with the note, cock aching, and his mind is whirling. The air is encumbered by a thick scent and taste, pulling at him as he smarts and shakes.</p><p>He unscrews the lid but is left gasping for a moment as he’s blinded by a happy wriggle of his insides. He comes hard against the floor and paints the linoleum. His head spins. He’s completely naked and can’t pee because he's aroused beyond belief and his head is swirling with equal parts horror and ecstasy, and he thinks he might die if he doesn’t do something about this but his cock wants to be touched as if a refractory period doesn’t exist.</p><p>Gasping, he shakes his head to clear it and reads the note starting with the purple.</p><p>
  <em> I promise you won’t die anytime soon. Deep breaths. If you want, you can enjoy it for a little, though it’s hard to do much, huh? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> When you’re done (you have days before anything’s dire so no rush—I’ve tested it. Super cool. You don’t even have to eat.), get yourself some water and force yourself to drink it. Open up the blinds and the windows. Those two things aren’t essential but they’ll help clear out the demon energy. Water things down, crowd out the hell in your nooks and crannies, chase out the pheromones in the air. </em>
</p><p>Jeno squeezes his eyes closed, too full to move. He doesn’t think he can do any of those things.</p><p>He tries to kneel, and the head of his cock drags through his own come—he sees white as the eggs respond to the movement. He chokes on a moan as a delicious sensation crawls through his skin, and he shakes through it as his dick weeps more ejaculate. “Fuck,” Jeno whines. “Fuck.” It’s so incredibly weird, and though his discomfort is quickly settling back into only pleasure, only a base, animalistic satedness, he clings to his desire for it to end. Just to know it can end. That he’s not going to die from this. He wants the eggs to stay but needs them desperately to leave. To feel perfectly human again. </p><p><em> I’ll walk you through the first steps, </em> writes the purple script. <em> Put one hand on your sternum (that’s between your pecs but slightly above them) and set your intention (like yoga! Your intention: getting those little pests out). Have your thumb at the hollow of your throat. Next, you’re going to make yourself vomit—you probably know what this’ll look like, and it’s not going to work this time, but you need to try to do it. Uncomfy, but try. </em></p><p>
  <em> When you’re done gagging to the point of tears, you’ll notice a burning sensation in your stomach. If you don’t, keep trying to vomit (fingers down your throat, baby). The eggs are going to panic, but it’ll just make your head swim. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Next, reach back and unplug yourself. You’ve been sealed up. It’s kind of cool looking, and it’s flared so please don’t tear your rectum (you probably won’t—you’re probably still stretched out enough to fist). </em>
</p><p>Jeno wheezes, and maybe he’d laugh during other circumstances if he didn’t feel more than a little panicked.</p><p>
  <em> Drink some more water and you’ll feel things start to loosen. Turn over. </em>
</p><p>Green.</p><p>
  <em> Find a place to squat (NOT the toilet) or kneel. The more you move the faster it’ll be. Push on your stomach and tell the eggs to leave. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> They’re going to be sad, but they will definitely kill you, so dear fucking god don’t let any of them stay. The demon came by my permission, and you’re allowed to ask it to leave completely. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> If you can manage not to feel disgusted, all the eggs leaving can feel pretty sensual. Experience the wonders of a demon-fucking aftermath. As soon as they hit the floor, they’ll vanish—needs to be earth/ground even if it’s damp or else they’ll just float about and give off sad waves of want. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Once everything’s gone, take a hot shower, drink more water, pee the weird out of your system, get some spicy or acidic food. Nothing in you after the eggs will harm you, really, but you’ll feel woozy and wonky and vaguely horny for a long time if you don’t start flushing it all out. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> If you have anything else to ask, kiss this note and it’ll wipe clean. You can write us any questions and we’ll write you back. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Happy purging, you sexy monsterfucker. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> J,R </em>
</p><p>Jeno follows the instructions to the best of his ability even if it feels like it’ll almost kill him to let the eggs go. He has to pull himself onto his feet using a chair, horrifyingly heavy, and it’s almost impossible to do anything without having to re-experience a near-orgasm every few steps.</p><p>It’s a relief to clear out the air—the rush feels almost cold in his coiled lungs—and he’s able to choke down a cup of water to swirl with the acid in his stomach and make him feel like he’s full of sex-addled tapioca pearls (he tries not to think about it too deeply). The eggs really do vanish in large, pulpy surges, and they take kind of grotesque amounts of lining with them. He’s not able to enjoy it quite like the green text encouraged was possible, though that’s probably because he’s still scared until everything's out. He finds his skin snaps back like it was nothing, too, though remains vaguely elastic when he prods his abdomen.</p><p>His legs are wobbly and weak by the end of it all, but he doesn’t have to crawl anymore, and everything is sore, but oddly not like he’s been fucked to no sanely survivable degree. He feels good. Just plain good, if a little funny.</p><p>He’s able to order food that arrives after his shower, and the delivery girl ogles at him to the point that it makes him nervous. When he finally looks in the mirror, he looks… the same but better. Which is unexpected given he just removed from his body what felt like 101 eggs from an eldritch horror. He feels like he’s glowing very slightly, and his complexion is remarkably without blemish, and he feels fresh and still just <em> good, </em> so even though he’s shaky and sensitive, it’s kind of alright.</p><p>He drinks water normally now that he has all the usual room back in his abdominal cavity, and notices the summoning circle is completely gone. Only the chalk, the candles, and the matches are left aside from the note. There’s no slick on the floor or eggs anywhere to be found, no perfume left or any other fluids except for his own and the horrendous state of his bed. That, it seems, was not spared, but it doesn’t smell unpleasant. Of course it doesn’t. It smells like the demon—otherworldly and tantalizing, and he doesn’t bother feeling shame when his mouth waters and he has to take a moment to swallow and blink.</p><p>Jeno feels satisfied and springy and relaxed. Can’t bring himself to feel stupid about what he did. He still feels strange licks of pleasure trailing through his nerve endings, making him shiver and jiggle his leg while he’s eating.</p><p>He gets to work on time, and though he can’t possibly imagine doing it all again anytime terribly soon…</p><p>When he gets home, he kisses the note and writes, <em> How can I experience that again? </em></p><p>His hands shake. There’s no way he could manage it in the next few days—he’s still wrapping his mind around having eggs lain in him. He is already losing direct recall of its sensation, pain and discomfort and blinding pleasure far too fleeting a physical memory. The image, though, is still flaring in his mind, objectively disturbing but sending shudders down his spine and leaving his muscles clenching.</p><p>A purple scrawl crops up in real time on the note and Jeno shakes himself. <em> Ooh you liked it~ ♡ Why don’t we meet up and try for a threesome? Nothing like getting bred by a demon next to some friends. Or maybe we can be more? </em></p><p>Jeno freezes.</p><p>Green.</p><p>
  <em> If that’s a bit too soon, we can— </em>
</p><p>Jeno interrupts with his orange pen. <em> Do I know you two? </em></p><p>Still green.</p><p>
  <em> Somewhat. You can find out yourself if you want to meet. </em>
</p><p>Purple.</p><p>
  <em> How’s a date sound, shy boy? </em>
</p><p>Jeno lets out a shaky exhale.</p><p>
  <em> Yeah okay. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Please feel free to comment ♡ I will respond!</p><p>
  <a href="https://twitter.com/speckledsolana">twitter</a>
  <br/>
  <a href="https://t.co/zW26zmaxzw?amp=1">curiouscat</a>
  <br/>
  <a href="https://tellonym.me/solananne">tellonym</a>
</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaemin experiences some truly excruciating foreplay.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a continuation! Same universe, same characters, and this happens after Jeno's.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jaemin’s sweating in his Cultural Diversity and Justice lecture, but he’s not crying yet, so this is a win considering the circumstances. He knows his classmate next to him has been throwing him glances and he’s desperate to ignore her. He probably looks like he has a stomach bug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not entirely inaccurate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Renjun and Jaemin probably have a pretty broken sense of “winning a bet,” but they probably have a pretty broken sense of everything. Renjun lost, Jaemin won, and now he has some demon up in his insides nursing his prostate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s fucking torture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s also Jaemin’s first time experiencing this in particular, so his judgment on what counted as a good reward for victory was a little skewed—he sees that now. In theory, having a little sex demon Up There sounded pretty great, but if he ends up getting a prostate orgasm in the middle of class just because this fucking slug is relentless he might just abandon his major entirely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Renjun has pointed out multiple times that Jaemin can’t control his vocalizations for shit when he’s hit climax, so Jaemin’s pretty intent on not letting that happen. He really likes his major. This is his dream. Fuck demons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bites his lip, vision spotting as he leans his forearms on the little swing-out desk, and crosses his legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It moves like a severed nub of a sex tentacle that’s tapered on both ends, slender, short, and really all Jaemin can envision truly is a black slug. He has no idea what it looks like—it entered him during his nap because new demons and monsters are most comfortable arriving when no one’s there to see it happen. The older fucks (he means this literally) are less shy about how they spill out of a cavernous abyss, so Jaemin’s seen them arrive once or twice. This one, though, Jaemin only knows by feel and Renjun’s description.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(“It’s a feeder,” Renjun said calmly over breakfast, nibbling on his thumbnail while he flipped through his notes. “It’ll grow the more you experience pleasure, so it’s probably going to try anything. It’ll like you the more you like it.”)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jaemin thinks as a drop of sweat slides down his arm, and he bets he looks like a hormonal high schooler coming right out of PE. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He snapped out of his nap just in time to leave for class, and he really didn’t even spare it a thought until it decided to finally start moving, and then he jolted to a stop in the middle of the hallway. Now, he is here, wondering how stupid he had to be for it to not occur to him that he shouldn’t have gone to class?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As silently as he can, Jaemin exhales a shaky breath and tries one last time to see if he can actually focus his eyes enough to see the slides his professor has up on the screen. He’s never had to put so much effort into anything in his life. Truly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets maybe three words of information into his lagging brain before the little sex parasite having one hell of a time in his rectum pops its sucker off his prostate and nudges hard against it. Jaemin’s hand slips on his open notebook page and ends up ripping it halfway off its perforation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” asks his classmate under her breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes Jaemin way too long to think of actual words to say, still staring dead at the board and refusing to move. Nonetheless, there’s a bad tremor in the fingers that hold his pen. “Might leave,” he says, voice thin as the slippery bastard grinds itself against him. He tried thinking arousal-deterring thoughts earlier, but the thing just got more desperate and found his prostate, so this will simply be a battle of wills, he supposes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He also hopes to </span>
  <em>
    <span>god</span>
  </em>
  <span> she won’t notice that he’s hard as fuck. He’s got the little table to hide some of it and is leaning forward for a reason, but he has half a mind to lug his linguistics textbook out of his backpack and press it over his crotch to prevent even the possibility. This girl’s in some of his other classes—he might be a tad exhibitionist, but not in a way that might actually sabotage him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if you need to…” she murmurs, and moves her legs to the side to indicate that she’ll make way for him. He wrenches his gaze away from her knees, distracted by the movement. His attention is sticking to things as he zones in and out, and it’s awful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” he breathes and straightens his spine with his elbows digging into the little table. He presses his fingers to his forehead where the perspiration from this effort is encroaching from his hairline. He didn’t style his hair today, but that means if he continues to sweat like this, he’s going to look like a wet dog. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tightens his thighs together and refuses to let a gasp pass his lips as the tentacle swirls itself along his walls in impatient wriggles. He thinks it’s bigger. It makes sense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It makes sense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It makes sense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holy shit he’s losing his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaemin looks desperately for the clock, can’t even focus his eyes well enough when he finds it, and almost drops his phone with his shaky hands when he tugs it out of his backpack. His classmate makes a tiny, concerned noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The digital numbers say it’s been eight minutes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Renjun’s text on his lockscreen mocks him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“how’re you feeling, dumbass” it asks, and Jaemin squeezes his eyes closed. His stomach lurches uncomfortably as the fucking… fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>worm </span>
  </em>
  <span>latches on again and tries to pull his soul out through his prostate. He draws in a sharp breath and moves achingly slow to pull his textbook out because he’s so hard he’s genuinely scared someone’s going to notice, but also his dick’s pressing against his zipper and it hurts so badly that he’s on his last leg. He really can’t endure both tortures.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The book is heavy and its shiny cover is almost too slippery in his grip, but he presses it against his crotch and almost goes blind, stiffening around a moan trying to claw its way up through his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bit of demon swells inside him with a lick of triumph shooting up his spine, which Jaemin… really doesn’t need. There’s no official name for what Jaemin does, but bonding with and getting regularly possessed by fiends from the pit heightens his empathy and </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> knocks the wind out of him sometimes. He tries not to wheeze as it snuggles up against his walls and continues to suckle at him. It’s verging on painful at this point, and his nerves are starting to fray farther than his sanity can compensate for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t like doing it, but he reaches mentally for this little black blob and reprimands it. Hard. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t want to humiliate myself officially, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he tells it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ease up or I’ll cry. Let me get out of here.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, he thinks he gets ignored, but then the little beast latches off and stretches through him for all its baby length (not much yet) as if it’s asking for forgiveness. Jaemin tries not to wheeze in relief, but he still feels like nothing much has stopped. Just knowing there’s a sex demon polite and snug inside him while he tries to keep his public shit together is enough to arouse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaemin shakes as he conveys his thanks and carefully swings the desk part of his chair back against the arm rest. He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>throbbing</span>
  </em>
  <span> against the hard cover of his textbook, and he doesn’t miss the literal drop of sweat that splashes on its shiny title as he leans to shove his notebook away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you leaving?” his classmate asks, worry tinging her voice, and Jaemin gives a jerk of a nod as he tries to zip up his bag without alerting anyone else. Every slow movement he makes that messes with any of the muscles around his abdomen push him a little closer to the edge, and he’s genuinely scared he won’t be able to walk out without creaming himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the utmost care, he stands, trying not to sway on his own feet. He’s pressing so hard on his crotch with his makeshift shield that his head’s spinning twofold, but he really doesn’t need anyone seeing. He sidles past the girl and barely hears her tiny “feel better!” in his effort not to trip or pass out. He can keenly feel the girth of the demon stretching him internally even as it passively waits for his permission to continue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s fond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as he acknowledges that, he stumbles on his way to the exit at the back of the hall because the little thing dilates and pulses pleasantly at the approval. He sees someone jerk to steady him, but he’s already moving again and pushing out the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaemin doesn’t even tell it anything—he sees there’s no one in the halls, lowers his guard with a wheeze of relief, and the tentacle starts moving again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Muffling a moan, Jaemin knocks his forehead into the wall just to his left and tries to breathe as it wriggles happily inside him and rubs against his walls in twisting swirls. He adjusts the textbook so he can grip it in one hand and—god, please no one see him—palms the front of his jeans just for some proper relief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets it, but it’s staggeringly violent. He bites down so hard on his bottom lip he tastes blood as he fucking ejaculates in his pants outside of his lecture in an empty hallway. His moan is strangled but definitely sounds (embarrassingly, horrifyingly maybe just loud enough to be heard if someone inside strained their ears), and come leaks into the band of his underwear. He… he gets his penance for caving because the demon does something funny. It spreads. It spreads in a way Jaemin doesn’t expect from something tentacle-like. It feels a lot more like goo the way it is now, and it’s decided to smear itself up his walls to cling to his rectum and reach a little further.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaemin gasps from both the sensation and surprise, but his head’s spinning slightly less from even the smallest release of pressure from coming. Enough for him to have his bearings for a few seconds. To suck his bottom lip into his mouth to nurse it and tap out a typo-riddled message to Renjun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“i n eed j tp pick md up”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“*u”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands are shaking too badly to do better than that, and his palms are sweaty, and he makes his next effort the door. Get through and out the door. Then, the parking lot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaemin takes one step and almost buckles to the floor, only barely catching himself on the water fountain with a slippery palm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The demon spreads </span>
  <em>
    <span>out</span>
  </em>
  <span> of him. He can feel it. He can feel it snug and happy and clinging to him inside, but it also exits his anus and starts to creep up against his perineum. Jaemin gasps, gripping the metal fountain as his phone slips out of his hand and clatters into the water-speckled basin. He almost drops his textbook, too, but that thing cost him an arm and a leg and he can get a refund at the end of the semester if it’s in good shape, so he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> dropping it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chokes on a moan as the little fucker continues to reach and crawl until it's gone and found his balls. “Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he says faintly. This is definitely </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> like anything he’s experienced. Post-coitally groped on campus by a heinous and daring demon? Cool. Cool cool cool. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He pushes off the drinking fountain, grabs his phone, and staggers for the doors even as he feels it start to massage him. It’s initially webby, then he feels it take form again and nearly whimpers because, with a surge of pleasure, it thickens and he can suddenly </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> it curled between his legs. If he looks down, he can see it moving under the crotch of his pants in sweet, lewd curiosity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It snakes around the base of his sensitive cock, enlarging for every second he wastes being enraptured by this experience, leaning into the glass door that’s cracked open just barely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants to sink to the floor and let it have its way with him. Which he </span>
  <em>
    <span>will not</span>
  </em>
  <span> do in the humanities building. Absolutely not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He forces himself out the door, shaking his head to get his wits about him, but pretty much nothing stops for him down below. The attention to his cock earns the feeder a surge of pleasure and it’s swelling between his legs against the crotch of his jeans, and it’s like some incredibly thick dick is sitting snug against his perineum.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaemin sees spots.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His phone vibrates.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“omw”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Get to the car. Get to the car. Get to the car and then </span>
  <em>
    <span>scream</span>
  </em>
  <span> and cry and moan. That’s his goal. He just needs to get to the car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every step is painful in its own way with a thick tentacle stroking his dick in tiny pulses and actually fucking visible under his clothes every time he looks. He’s getting hard again, and this time there’s an actual threat that the head of his cock might try to peek past his soaked waistband. It’s pornographic, and he really tries not to think about it because with his connection, even thoughts feed it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The effort’s a really lame one, though, because he can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>think about it, and now it’s spreading itself out a little between his legs and sending webbing down the soft flesh of his inner thighs as he walks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s shaking so bad he feels like a stiff wind will simply knock him over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grips the hem of his shirt in his phone-occupied hand and pulls it over his crotch as another student makes their way down his direction. That. That is a mistake. His phone vibrates. Right up against his dick and the summon both. And Jaemin chokes as pleasure spirals through him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The student gives him a weird look as he stands there trembling, campus sprawling as he feels sweaty and disgusting and like a true and honest sinner. He feels the bulge of demon inside him surge with delight, the front of his jeans pushing for a terrifying moment, and its mass inch upward further into him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t!” he gasps under his breath. The student has passed him. He’s fine. He’s not fine. But he’s fine. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t use that knowledge against me just yet. I need. The car. I need privacy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Either the demon has absolutely no capacity to vibrate or it respects his wish as Jaemin gives in and just starts to run. It’s agony. It’s agony because </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span> is jostling and shifting against his violated parts, and his cockhead is rubbing against his jeans and the demon only grows from all this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaemin just barely remembers to look down at his phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“which parkinglot?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaemin swears under his breath as he reaches the humanities lot, scanning for Renjun’s crimson car. Nowhere to be seen. He texts back a twitchy response (“humanities” spelled correctly from the grace of messaging suggestions alone) and collapses onto one of the waiting benches. He grips his textbook over his lap again and squeezes his eyes closed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The demon seizes the opportunity, and Jaemin is left swallowing whimpers as it pumps his cock and presses up to his perineum and shreds his self control bit by bit. He wants to push his hand down his underwear and let it tangle against his fingers as he rubs one out on this public bench, and Jaemin feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>filthy</span>
  </em>
  <span> for it. Sweat creeps down his temples and down his arms, and his underwear feels soaked and disgusting, and all he wants to do is let this little bastard take over him freely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s started to stretch out his rim, now, twisting and knocking against his prostate, and it takes every ounce of Jaemin’s effort not to jerk with every teasing thrust. He can feel his cock leaking, can feel the thing throbbing wide and smugly between his thighs even as it paints webs under the fabric of his jeans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A horn honks and Jaemin jolts out of his painful reverie. Crimson. Renjun. Car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaemin pitches to his feet and takes the last long three steps to the passenger door Renjun is already leaning over to hold open for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He throws in his backpack, collapses against the seat, yanks the door closed, and really does scream. The feeder seems to burst with ambition, vibrating indeed right up against Jaemin’s prostate, and he sees white.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he comes to, he’s buckled in and can feel the tentacle winding around his waist now. It’s solidified around his thighs, making rounded ribs under the now-tighter cloth of his jeans. Renjun has set his textbook on the console, and his heart gives in to a weak feeling of fondness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like something jealous, the beast begins to stroke him again with new vigor. Jaemin badly wants to unbutton his jeans, but he still can’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Renjun casts him a quick look when they reach a stop sign. “You look ravished.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Big word for me right now,” Jaemin gasps, pushing back against his seat as his slit is teased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Defiled. Sinful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve orgasmed twice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Renjun makes a noise of fascination. “When was the first time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The hallwa—ah!” The tentacle’s gone and slithered up his chest to rub his nipple, and Jaemin really thinks it’s competing for his attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shudders as it thickens further between his thighs at the praise. It’s pulling his pants down slightly, at this point, it’s so swollen there, and he should probably be grateful he’s wearing jeans just so it doesn’t have the chance to stretch out his more forgiving pants until they’re unrecognizable. It feels luscious like this, too, honestly. Tight and cramped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It shivers against his perineum like a coo of delight and Jaemin bites his lip in a whine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Learns fast, then,” Renjun says, and there’s amusement and affection laced in his tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hel-elps that I have a link,” Jaemin pants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Temperament?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaemin swallows and grips the door and seatbelt. He has a feeling if he touches this thing, it’ll unlock a whole new level of rabid enthusiasm. “Eager. Selfish. Att-attention-seeking.” It presses against his insides like a prod, and Jaemin gets the message. “Affectionate.” It prods again and rubs hard over his prostate. “Likes compliments,” he gasps, then gives in. “Feels really good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those words send the craziest roll of achievement through the thing, and it physically becomes girthier in a plump ripple. The widening pulls at Jaemin’s pants below his hip bones, squeezes his cock, stretches his rim in what feels extremely indecent for a car-ride, and adds a good length to the bit inside him to the point that he thinks it breaches his intestines. With a whine, he barely lifts the hem of his shirt to confirm that his sex is no longer completely covered by his jeans anymore, his cockhead red and weeping as the demon writhes underneath his clothes and away from the light.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Really</span>
  </em>
  <span> likes compliments,” Jaemin rasps, letting his shirt fall and squirming against the upholstery as it reclaims his slit. Renjun laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does it secrete?” Renjun asks as he finally pulls into their parking spot and turns off the engine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaemin shakes his head. “Not y—</span>
  <em>
    <span>yes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>yes it does. Hah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Renjun covers his mouth as he smiles, and Jaemin downright writhes as it gushes inside of him at one end and splurts fluid across his crotch at the other. The ends around his thighs and chest elect not to do anything but snake and prod. It wriggles inside him instead and he can feel himself leak just barely before it does the eldritch commonality of seeping into his insides and rim. Immediately, he feels it take advantage of the chemical manipulation and stretch him out farther, and Jaemin almost sobs at how obscene it feels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s that good?” Renjun goads, and Jaemin feels positively </span>
  <em>
    <span>wet</span>
  </em>
  <span> at his front where his semen and demon fluid sops all over him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaemin bites his lip. “Get me inside first, please,” he simply mewls, and Renjun just laughs before getting out of the driver’s seat. He circles around to Jaemin’s side, opens the door, and collects his book and bag for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think you can walk?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaemin whimpers, but reaches to tug himself by the car doorway, dragging himself out of his seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Renjun looks over his shoulder and makes a noise of approval, probably appreciating the lack of any stains on his upholstery. Jaemin didn’t leak </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The car park for their shitty apartment is blessedly empty and for a moment, Jaemin folds at the waist, puts his hands on his knees, and lets out a sob at this infernal thing’s desire to claim him entirely. He feels like he’s being fondled and groped in a club by two people and cockwarming like a size queen at the same time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he finally starts to walk again, he feels encumbered, especially with the bastard so thick between his legs. Renjun helps him limp for the back door, opens it for him, and lets him stagger in first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaemin lets out a proper keen to know he’s reached home, but forces himself to rid himself of his shirt, unbutton his pants, and collapse on the couch before giving up entirely. In the shade of their shuttered apartment, the demon’s safest to be out and about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only things Renjun does is set down Jaemin’s stuff, tighten the blinds, and perch himself on the arm of the couch to be a personal voyeur to how his beautiful summon squirms against and around Jaemin’s skin. “Want your pants off before you compliment it?” Renjun teases, and Jaemin nods jerkily to allow Renjun to start tugging the entire article off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unexpectedly, given it was jealous no more than two minutes prior, the demon seems immediately grateful and retracts slightly from Jaemins’s thighs to make the task easier. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ah, alliances,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jaemin thinks weakly, but then fizzles slightly under the sound of admiration Renjun gives.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gorgeous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of this thing, Jaemin and Renjun will always be in agreement. Demons can swerve wildly out of initial comprehension, but they’re both entirely too fond of these clever beasts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think so too. I thi-ink this is. A favorite,” Jaemin manages to choke out, pushing himself along the couch to rest his head on the other arm rest, then gives out a cry as the demon’s entire body ripples again, then </span>
  <em>
    <span>splits.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” Renjun says, in awe as it duplicates itself and surges in an effort to give Jaemin pleasure. It stays one unit between his legs, but it’s like rutting a slender thigh at this point, and Jaemin has to bend one leg so he doesn’t strain his flexors. The beast thrums and starts to weep as it pumps at his cock and curls around his thighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaemin pants at the feeling of two appendages twining within his rim and up in his body. It starts feeling slippery wherever the tentacles make contact, and warm, and with every ricochet of pleasure, the feeder seems to focus on growing its girth inside him instead of outside, pushing into him in a trek to reach his stomach. Every pulse of its growth ends up ripping against his prostate and Jaemin doesn’t even attempt to stop whimpering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His inner thighs are stroked as he nears another orgasm, and he only remembers he’s still wearing underwear when he hears it rip with the flash of white pleasure through his body. He chokes on a laugh, and opens his eyes to see the thing writhing happily and fat against his skin under a busted seam. He notices it’s more of a pretty navy for one second before it receives the compliment “pretty” and surges into his stomach with its duo of tentacles and a splash of fluid there. Jaemin coughs on pleasure and gasps from its intrusion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It curls like a kitten in the extra space like it’s a lobby to lounge in, and he swears he can feel it purr. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmgod,” Jaemin pants, pleasure curling through his veins at the feeling. He relishes being claimed so completely. It’s gotten much easier to take demons through the intestinal tract and so on over time, but the chemicals sex demons emit and ooze always help. He feels the tentacle around his waist rub itself against his skin to leave a shine that sinks effortlessly into his flesh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, tentatively, he reaches down to take in his hands the thick end of the tentacle resting happily against his sternum. He watches it ripple, feels it swell under his fingers and give off warmth. It is roused by the attention, anticipating, squirming impatiently, and when he brings the rounded tip to his open mouth to press it up against his tongue, the entire beast swells ferociously all at once. It drowns his cock in its girth, forces his legs wider like a fat thigh. He feels his rim stretch further, feels the creature twine and shove itself into every space his viscera provides, popping him a small swell of a belly immediately, and Jaemin’s eyes roll back in ecstasy as he comes </span>
  <em>
    <span>again </span>
  </em>
  <span>into the full grip of the demon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Refractory periods start to become meaningless when sharing pleasure with sex demons—this they learned from the very beginning. Something fundamentally changes when someone makes a sexual entanglement with the planar gap, and those constraints and changes have taken up three notebooks at least in Renjun’s summoning cabinet. One, energy is stretchy. Two, humans do not go unmarked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tentacle in his hands swells forward to press into his mouth, and he allows it that want indulgently. Swallows around it with his mind still half-gone from his orgasm and savors the weird taste of the interplane. Continues to let it grow as large as it wants inside him and out. He’s accustomed to being filled; being stretched full is perhaps his favorite part, and the demons take care of their temporary hosts. Jaemin has never been injured because of them—the worst that has happened is him tripping over his own two feet because his brains and guts are scrambled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The loop of pleasure doesn’t stop, and what was slow in the beginning reaches crashing rapids. Jaemin lets himself revel and be lost, stretching and moaning and accommodating like this is a ritual he breathes. Jaemin only wonders distantly, blissfully with the entire thing fucking his throat and now pulsing aggressively into him, when it should stop. Some demons don’t sate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Renjun can call the shots. He’s good at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaemin doesn’t remember passing out.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>He wakes to the thing gone and his body empty. Renjun is curled on the couch next to him with his lips pressed up against his neck. Short, sleepy breaths heat Jaemin’s skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaemin groans and shifts, hardly upset and already feeling the aftermath. The kind of rapture that runs through his skin and contentedness that settles in his bones. He feels warm and exhausted, though admittedly, distinctly desecrated. His bare crotch feels sticky even with what seems to be a towel thrown over it so Renjun’s clothes don’t rash his sensitive skin. Everything feels a little more zippy against Jaemin’s nerves after getting sexed by a summon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Injunnie,” Jaemin says, and he sounds fucked to hell, so he laughs and coughs a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Renjun stirs. “Mn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When did you see it out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mnn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaemin swallows thickly and clears his throat. “When did you tell it to leave?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Renjun stretches and opens his mouth to suck gently on Jaemin’s neck. It’s probably salty, but maybe there’s still some residue demon clinging to him. Jaemin sighs from the pleasant feeling and waits for Renjun to regain his thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He removes his mouth with a lewd, wet sound, and Jaemin’s eyelashes flutter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I watched for a little after you went unconscious,” Renjun admits. “It wasn’t smothering you, and you always look like a doll.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaemin hums something cheerful and twists to fit his leg between Renjun’s, wondering if he should encourage the reaction of arousal he feels hearing that. “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s able to see Renjun’s eyes and their sleepy droop, and wonders if there were some pheromones that got to him or if he skipped a night of sleep when Jaemin wasn’t looking. His boyfriend is sneaky. He’ll do that sometimes. “Mhm.” Renjun licks his lips, then reaches to peck Jaemin’s. The kiss is tacky and warm. “Still prefer you conscious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry for passing out,” he mumbles, and Renjun just shakes his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It seemed like it was doing its best to rub you raw,” Renjun says, amusement reentering his tone. “I would pass out, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaemin hums again, happy and comfortable, and leans to kiss Renjun in full.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s pretty sure he won’t ever take a demon to class with him again, but he rather thinks that this was the best idea he’s ever had for an award anyway. Even if it was a special kind of masochism.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe Renjun will win the next bet. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>In case you didn't infer, Jaemin won the bet involving Jeno.</p><p>
  <a href="https://twitter.com/speckledsolana">twitter</a>
  <br/>
  <a href="https://t.co/zW26zmaxzw?amp=1">curiouscat</a>
  <br/>
  <a href="https://tellonym.me/solananne">tellonym</a>
</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Contracts really aren’t like the fairytales say. It’s not that they aren’t tricky or that demons aren’t clever, it’s simply that humans are ignorant and self-centered and demons are very, very literal in a language they are rarely able to translate into any one human language. That, and no one should form serious contracts with demons <em> or </em> people with whom they don’t have a solid rapport.</p><p>Renjun really can’t be sure which tales are actually based in reality, but it’s truly the principle of the thing.</p><p>With Pearl, they presented a contract. She didn’t know Jeno, and demons aren’t any more comfortable entangling with strangers than most people—there’s an element of caution and distrust. She knows Jaemin and Renjun, though, and she knows their standards, so working the boundaries and expectations into her summon circle wasn’t a draining process. <em> Make it a soothing and gentle fuck </em> was their side (which Pearl was good for) versus her side, which according to Jaemin was:</p><p>I̷̻͗ ̴̠̞̚w̸̡̭̓a̵̜͌͜n̶̹̹̐t̷͍̼̎̚ ̸̝̙̉͂t̵͖̤̀̈́o̴̧̍̐ ̶̩̬f̴̘̲̐͊e̷̩̓́ë̷̞̭́̽d̵̛̻̪̐ ̴̭̰̕͝t̷͉́ḫ̵̨̉̔ę̶̦̇ ̸̰̓d̸̢͐̾ȕ̵̦̬͝c̸̻͍̏͂k̶̜̐͐ͅṣ̴̈́.̶̺̑</p><p>Which Jaemin is more than happy to provide. “She’s very cute,” Jaemin said, to which Renjun agreed easily.</p><p>Similarly, no one should call on a sleeper demon for running a marathon—it just isn’t sane. To Renjun’s knowledge there are very few mainstream accounts of a contract, and therefore a summon, done correctly, though he is sure it all in part has to do with how under-wraps the whole enterprise is.</p><p>And frankly, given his very first run-in, he isn’t shaming anyone for being an idiot. He’s rather speaking from experience because the first demon he summoned simply sat in its circle and stared at him until the fifteen hours he accidentally wrote into the circle’s request ran out. He’s since done a handful of personal favors for Mag just to make up for it (they wanted to try all the different flavors of jelly bean, which was both valid and unfortunate since Bertie Bott’s spinoff was also included in the endeavor).</p><p>It’s difficult for demons to resist a proper summoning, which is why payment and respect is so essential. If they’re treated well and given polite service in return, there’s absolutely no reason for any demon to take any firstborn children or murder a household. Most demons just want something nice for themselves that they glimpse through the planar windows. They like pleasure and sex and beauty just as much as a human does, and they’re curious and terribly cute sometimes, and utterly beautiful.</p><p>In any case, Renjun and Jaemin rarely have to form proper contracts with demons these days. They simply work in their intents and hopes for the entanglement and the demon Renjun summons is generally happy to oblige. Sometimes payment comes in the form of Jaemin letting himself get possessed for a visceral experience. Sometimes the payment is born in mutual service—like with Jaemin and “Dot,” as they’ve decided to call it. Jaemin got the sexual torture of his life and Dot got a lot of vitality and pleasure of its own. It even got a name, which means it’ll probably be summoned again sometime. </p><p>But for the first time in a long while, Renjun has summoned a demon with a proper contract written into the circle, and it is this: don’t let me get distracted from my homework until it’s done.</p><p>This past week, he hasn’t been able to focus for the life of him—leading up to snaring Jeno, learning he was actually hooked, then having to wait to meet him properly has taken a toll on his mind. It isn’t that he’s not patient. It’s rather that he is more anxious than he thought he would be and unfortunately midterms wait for no one. Not even seasoned summoners who really don’t want to Fuck Things Up with a cute boy who let them set him up with a sex demon.</p><p>There’s a sharp and sudden pain down Renjun’s left pec that has him hissing, tears springing to his eyes.</p><p><em> “Ow!” </em> he gasps just so the demon knows it. “Fuck!”</p><p>The webbing around his right thigh gives a gentle, warm throb, and Renjun gets the message but still reaches to rub his bare skin as he focuses on his laptop again. His mind wandered too long, and… well, the demon’s doing what Renjun asked it to do.</p><p>It was still a shock to his system.</p><p>At least it avoided hitting his nipple.</p><p>He’s only wearing underwear at the moment (he’s home and clothes are a bother), pulled up to his desk with his feet planted in the circle he’d drawn up no less than four hours ago. It’s not a big one since his specifications weren’t arduous, so it’s able to fit under his desk pretty neatly in its tight chalk marks. He really didn’t specify for the demon how he wanted to be kept working, so it elected to tie him to his chair in its own way.</p><p>It’s safe to say that Renjun’s back has not ever been this straight for such a long period, and the only reason it has been is because the demon’s wrapped snugly around his waist with a stabilizing projection cradling the back of his head. It won’t let him clench his jaw, either, so here Renjun is, doing his homework for hours straight without a pressure headache or a broken spine. It’s a miracle, but Renjun’s pec still stings like a motherfucker.</p><p>“I’m almost done,” he tells himself and the demon both, and runs his hand over the smooth feeling of the creature’s grip on his thighs. In its current state and mood, its skin feels most like that of a taut salamander, peacefully strapping him to the legs and seat of his chair.</p><p>In the space of four hours with breaks, he’s finished two lab reports, an essay, and an open discussion assignment—all of which he put off for far too long, knowing he could do them well, knowing exactly how he would finagle and wrap them up, and still avoiding them like the devil because they seemed so <em> banal </em> in light of running his nerves raw thinking about the coffee date they set up with the boy who works as a stocker and cashier at the grocery store.</p><p>Renjun gets a pinch at the back of his neck for zoning out again, but this time he doesn’t complain. Simply refocuses on the task and types out the last page with Jeno shoved firmly to the back of his head where the sting of his reprimand resides.</p><p>He submits this final report, clearing himself from all immediate homework threats for the next three days, and closes his computer with a click.</p><p>“I want to die,” he says to the open air, which is true in histrionics only. Now is not the time to die—he, personally, feels he’s on the cusp of something very exciting in terms of Jeno, his relationship with Jaemin is a pearl come from the gnashing jaws of humanity, he’s learning new things every day from the interplane to slake his fixation, and he’s closing in on the last two years of this academic chokehold he’s thrown himself into head-first. </p><p>Renjun sighs and stretches, tilting his head back into the dull edges of the demon’s hold on his neck if only for the slight massage it’ll give him. The creature smooths itself down his thighs gently and cradles his knees, and it’s not the first time Renjun wishes he had Jaemin’s affinities. He would like to be able to hear the demons’ wants and pleasures and curiosities. Jaemin says their minds are so plain and honest, and Renjun knows his boyfriend likes their companionship. What he has in his relationship with these creatures, though, is more than enough.</p><p>“Did I bore you?” Renjun asks, tickling his fingers down the draping of beast skin that hugs his chest. It flinches away from him in protest, then lashes out gently like a child and smothers his hand in a sticky mass. Renjun laughs, then smiles as it taps the meat of his shoulder once, then two times in a row.</p><p><em> Yes. No. </em>One tap is yes, two is no, and Renjun is very taken with its conflicted answer.</p><p>“Will you tell Jaemin what bored you?” he asks and tilts his head to the side. This demon’s all just smooth stretches of webbing—he can’t see any sort of unique body, and frankly not many demons have one in the first place. Renjun thinks and is almost entirely sure that in the interplane, there aren’t physical manifestations like these at all. There’s something else there to constitute existence, and whatever form they take once called into a circle is the closest this plane can get to what they are.</p><p>This demon isn’t one Renjun’s ever met before, and it has a pretty, opalescent sheen to its smooth and dry salamander softness. It’s dry, anyway, when it’s not morphing shape.</p><p>It shakes itself out of Renjun’s fingers and returns to his chest, this time sliding up and across to lay this one stretch of itself across his shoulder like a swathe of warm silk. So far, its body is smooth and light, but strong enough to hold him, and fluid enough to stretch and enfold.</p><p>“Have you thought about payment yet? I’m really grateful for your help,” Renjun murmurs, and presses his lips to the skin he can reach. It flinches from this, too, but doesn’t protest. It just hugs him tighter, and Renjun can intuit that it doesn’t like tickles and might be quite timid. At least when receiving human affection.</p><p>He gets one tap. <em> Yes. </em></p><p>“Is it a possession?” Renjun can <em> do </em>possessions, but it’s not nearly the same as when Jaemin does it. For Jaemin, it’s like a friendly jaunt with an overly-curious-or-otherwise demon (apparently). For Renjun, he has no tethers, and sometimes he can barely stay conscious. If demons cross into this human plane, they enjoy good companionship with these strange creatures they cannot understand, and Renjun’s simply not great at that when he’s pushed right out of his soma.</p><p>Two taps, these against his inner thigh, and Renjun pushes out a soft breath from his nose.</p><p>“You must want a souvenir, then,” Renjun says, and there’s a long, motionless pause where Renjun holds his breath in. He can’t laugh. It’ll ruin everything.</p><p>The demon taps twice right above the hem of his boxers.</p><p>“I can’t think of anything else. I might have to get Jae—ah!” Renjun laughs out one short breath as he is <em> pushed </em> right up and out of his chair. There’s a clatter as it skids across the kitchen linoleum, and Renjun tries not to stumble. There’s no point, though, because the demon steadies him carefully, delicately, and oh. It's so gentle. He must have really pushed its buttons.</p><p>“You’re right. I should get—” He doesn’t even get to start Jaemin’s name before his mouth gets slapped over with a thin, firm film, and all Renjun can do is laugh through his nose even as this poor thing releases a stress scent. It smells like sour wine, and so close to his olfactories, the waft makes Renjun’s head spin slightly. </p><p>Renjun feels it very deliberately (very, very softly as if scared) brush over the front of his crotch, and Renjun honestly melts.</p><p>He reaches to nudge its touch off his mouth and it falls easily. It retracts from his boxers, too. The entire thing is a tight swirl of a circle around Renjun’s bare feet, its appendages like tapered bolts of fabric. It makes him feel like he’s in a ring of near-stationary fire and its dark, prismatic solar flares have jumped and frozen just to hear him speak.</p><p>“I’m teasing,” Renjun breathes. “I’m teasing. You want sex, right?”</p><p>The entire entity shivers, but reaches out delicately to poke him once in the solar plexus.</p><p>
  <em> Yes. </em>
</p><p>A good communicator, a little anxious. So, so sweet.</p><p>“I’m in the mood,” Renjun assures it. “I would be honored if you had your way with me.”</p><p>The air seems to shudder for a moment as the scent shifts, and Renjun can <em> never </em> place why he reacts so keenly to the demons’ arousal smells when he cannot recall anything remotely similar to them. This one is musky, but light. It makes his mouth water.</p><p>He takes initiative and hooks off his underwear, stepping out and tossing it to the discarded chair, and he’s been nude enough times in a demonic presence that the vulnerability of it is simply ritualistic.</p><p>Renjun sighs as he feels it slide warmly up the entire back of him, soft and secure. It’s pleasant to lean into and feel it mold around him with no danger of him falling.</p><p>“Anything you want,” Renjun says because this seems like a demon that might worry and hold back, “so long as you stick to the rules.” The rules are implicit in his personal mark of summoning—no crippling, no killing anything, no gore. Renjun simply doesn’t find injury or dead mice erotic. The former he learned from a cracked rib, and the latter very, very early on (though to be fair, he doesn’t think the demon intended for it to be erotic—it had simply been startled by a movement, and well. Mice are devastatingly cute, but it was probably for the better.). Jaemin’s a little more forgiving. His partners can draw a little blood from his epidermis, but he doesn’t like it going deeper than that.</p><p>Honestly, most demons don’t want to hurt them even a little <em> anyway. </em></p><p>The demon thrums against his skin, and he’s glad he says something because its skin goes from velvety to sticky in that moment alone. It grips to his skin and then peels off in slow, repeat motions that are surprisingly pleasant. It’s like its own form of kissing, palming along his skin, familiarizing itself slowly.</p><p>Renjun lets it explore. Maybe this demon has never had sex with a human before—he’s never seen one take such thorough care to investigate him. It runs through his hair delicately and sticks for the barest moment just to pull, and Renjun shudders where he stands. It moves on. Creeps over his chest and finds his nipples unremarkable (that’s more Jaemin’s sensitivity). It plucks at his sides and finds him shivering, kisses along his thighs and gets the message when he sighs and jerks.</p><p>He might tease the demon, but if it’s taking so much time to get to know him, he’ll give it honest reactions. He likes his hair tugged if only gently. He’s ticklish but in an embarrassingly sensual way. It even figures out that he likes his fingers sucked, though god knows how. He gets half-hard in the middle of the kitchen floor from searching touches alone as the beast feels him up, and he feels no shame.</p><p>As it curls up and around his neck, Renjun raises his hands to stroke it, hissing his nails gently against its surface. It flashes hot under his touch and Renjun gasps. It’s not hot enough to burn, but it scalds his skin in a different way. Like he’s been paddled gently or touched charged metal. The feeling fizzles straight to his head and spins it like a bottle with mere dredges of wine.</p><p><em> “Oh,” </em> he says, reeling a little, and would have staggered if he weren’t already being cradled. Through a suddenly muddled mind, he’s afraid that the demon truly doesn’t like being touched—he doesn’t know if that was a warning or a positive reaction. “Do you not—” His words are indistinct and slurred, and Renjun swallows, trying to right his brain so he can communicate properly.</p><p>Instead, as his hand falls, he hits something—some part of it—and heat flashes behind his eyes as a barrage of champagne bubbles rupture up his arm and crackle in his brain. His heart hiccups in something akin to fear. He doesn’t want to hurt the demon. Hates more than anything to cross any of their boundaries, and now his mind’s confused.</p><p>“Sorry,” he says, and realizes he’s looking at the ceiling as it revolves and twists. There are strange glowing spots in his vision that he chases with his gaze. “I’m—I didn’t kn—sor—” He thinks he can hear himself stumble around his words and wonders for a moment if he’s about to black out when he feels the demon creep an appendage up to his lips. This he is familiar with, and he lets his mouth fall open.</p><p>The second it presses flatly against his tongue, everything in his vision rights itself all at once and Renjun chokes on his inhale. He can’t help the impulse to scrabble for a handle on something as if he’s falling—the ceiling swinging into focus. The kitchen lights flicker as his nails scrape demon flesh, but it’s sticky this time, and his fingers drag.</p><p>In a single, breathtaking moment, the beast lashes itself around his wrists in wide ribbons and pulls. Sparks froth through his veins in swirls of heat as his arms are pulled and locked into a steady, smooth mass like he’s gone and punched through a wall of wet, warm cement. His shoulders pop, and something pleasant snags in his brain and drips sauvignon down his spine.</p><p>“Oh, what the <em> fuck,” </em> he tries to say, arching into the feeling, but it’s garbled against how the beast presses his tongue down.</p><p>He’s never gotten such violent whiplash from an entanglement before, and certainly hasn’t been restrained quite like this. Flat paws of the demon’s extensions shiver across the skin of his chest and slip like heavy silk over his thighs, twining and unraveling, slippery one moment then pressing sticky flat kisses to his bare skin.</p><p>Renjun tries to clench his hands since he can’t clench his jaw and almost throws out his neck when heat rips up his arms in rampant flares. It reaches his head again and swings the room out of focus, dropping Renjun’s stomach what feels like fifty feet through thin air, and then the demon’s pushing down on his tongue and everything crackles back into focus.</p><p>Gasping, he feels his arms lock up whether he wills it or not, too scared to move and initiate another battering ram to his equilibrium.</p><p>He finally looks back down, sucking hard on the tapered band of demon in his mouth (deep citrus, like orange peel steeped in oil). His feet are still planted firmly on the ground, though for a protracted couple of seconds he was alarmed he even <em> had </em> feet, and his stomach and chest are quivering with short gusts of breath. He missed the demon releasing itself from his back, so it’s only him with his arms stretched bare and stuck in thick rods of demon essence. </p><p>The air conditioning clicks on with a thoughtful whir, and it takes until then for Renjun to realize he’s sweating, the stale, recycled air reaching his hair just barely and shifting it.</p><p>Renjun refocuses with a heavy exhale through his nose. Right now, it seems the demon wants control—is maybe far too nervous to receive anything from him and doesn’t know what on earth to do aside from restrain him. He’s making a cognitive leap, he knows, but Renjun latches onto the assumption and lets himself relax.</p><p>With the tension leaving his neck, it’s as if the demon was waiting for him. Renjun feels his hands lower vertically, pulling him down as much as pushing, asking him to sink to the ground and kneel. This, he can do, and instead of his knees hitting linoleum, they press into a thick heat of shimmering black.</p><p>He feels calmer as he adjusts his feet and brushes his toes against its soft surface. It doesn’t seem to be as masochistic as it is firm. It’s rare for demons to push him around these days, but it’s also rare for him to encounter a breed he’s not even remotely familiar with. He doesn’t know how to act or what to expect, exactly, but he supposes he can just <em> be </em> and let it have its way.</p><p>Renjun lets his head loll forward, spine stretching as the demon loops itself over his ankles and creeps behind his knees. He refuses to squirm at the ticklishness, but it ends up sending heat through him anyway by virtue of the action alone. With its grip firm, he feels the artificial ground part and shift, rolling out and bringing his knees as it goes until his core is much closer to the demon’s variegated flesh. At no point does it reveal the linoleum, instead spreading out like it has no particular beginning. His thighs shake as he searches its mass underneath him and the way it gently simmers.</p><p>He inhales the soft musk that feels fresher the closer he’s come and watches small, ribboned tides of black opal part from its velvet undulations. They loop around his thighs like they have all the time in the world, bringing freckled, banding heat along with them that rushes through his flesh.</p><p>He shivers in the anxiety of anticipation, half-wondering if he’ll just be blue-balled for three hours as it just touches his skin and periodically eviscerates his sense of physical stability.</p><p>The answer comes when it coils up between his legs and grazes just about everything that’s worth touching down there. Renjun remembers the part in his mouth just in time to stop himself from biting his lip. Instead, he gives it a heady suck as the two ends between his legs fold themselves neatly over his dick at half mast, pushing it up against his stomach to hit skin on skin. Renjun curls his toes up against the floor the demon has made for him, heart a hummingbird in his throat.</p><p>It begins to push and drag against him with a full convolution from base to tip, and Renjun’s never wished more for some knock-out fluid. Just a full wash of demon juice to knock his brain out of the park so he doesn’t have to feel everything so intimately. If anything, his senses feel sharper, experiencing every minute movement like the outer world doesn’t even exist properly. </p><p>Its mass is warm turning steadily thick and sticky, suctioning up against his skin and melting like heavy cream back to his balls all over again. It then slips up against the stretched crease of his inner thighs and draws up his shaft, and Renjun feels it cannot adequately compare to fucking something though it’s the only frame of reference he can provide. There’s too much movement and it’s too thick, too slow and controlled. It feels like it’s trying to coax his consciousness out through his slit.</p><p>He heaves a breath under how it still manages to press his shaft up against his stomach, skin crawling with sparks as it leaks over his perineum and seems to pull slightly on his sensitive skin every time it drips onto its own floor. It swirls around his crown like a wrist twist and Renjun tenses through flecks of bleached gold swarming his vision. His knees sink into its flesh, legs trembling in earnest as it elects to slop messily down his fragile inner thighs until it looks like he’s spilling opalescent black from his skin.</p><p>Though he doesn’t know for what purpose, he wishes he could move his arms. Perhaps to scoop up some of its essence and understand it—his dick is sensitive, but Renjun doesn’t feel the brightest about any of this.</p><p>The demon gives a particularly hard pull at the same time as its extension out of the main mass pushes his cock against his stomach, and he comes without another thought, the edges of his vision creating black spots to dance along the kitchen cabinetry.</p><p>Through the tremors of his orgasm, he feels heat pool at the small of his back and ribbon itself upward. His heart smears itself erratically against his ribcage as each micromovement ripples blushes of static through his skin. The last thing Renjun sees before it loops around and up his neck, then creeps over his temples in smooth silk is everything dripping cleanly off his flaccid cock.</p><p>Then, his eyes are snugly covered and he is blinking in nothing but darkness.</p><p>He’s not accustomed to erotic fear, although it’s truly the definition of everything he’s felt so far.</p><p>Everything tilts like he’s tripping in a dream, and Renjun can’t help the sound of alarm he makes when his body hits a mass of warmth, cheek pressed up against soft pulsations. He gasps in the heady scent of demon arousal so close to his nose. There’s nothing in his mouth anymore, and it takes him a moment to realize his hands are free.</p><p>Blind, he grapples with the ground and its plush surface, raising himself up shakily to his elbows and knees. His legs are free, too. Renjun makes what he can only personally describe as a whimper of confusion. He drags his palms across smooth demon skin as his heart pounds and the smell starts careening inside the confines of his skull.</p><p>Without his eyes, the soothing touch of silk to his waist seems out of nowhere and he downright squeaks. It slips over his spine and drapes over him in heavy satin bolts until he’s giving up quietly under the weight. Shallow breaths shuck out of his lungs as he obediently flattens himself to the ground again. He can feel its pulse against his lips, so close the heat of his breath knocks back against him.</p><p>Even among the muddle, his mind fizzles with his fixated need to <em> know, </em> and just as it starts to leave the skin of his back in slow unfurlings, he opens his mouth and presses his tongue to its flesh.</p><p>The whole beast convulses—every bit that touches him he can feel vibrate and shudder—and it tastes like nothing but dry, papery citrus. He doesn’t get a chance to suck on the patch of skin he’s pressed his mouth to. It moves too quickly in retaliation.</p><p>Renjun feels himself yanked back from the ground, shoulders protesting as his hands are lashed up and behind him and held by a firm grip he can’t see. He’s lifted only enough to where his chest no longer touches the ground, but his knees and the tip of his cock do. Renjun laughs breathlessly and flexes his fingers into thin air, essentially roped by the wrists and nothing else.</p><p>“You’re going to dislocate my shoulders,” he murmurs, heartbeat still erratic and rushed against the thin skin of his neck. He feels uncomfortable, elated, and just a little frightened in just the right way in the clumsy grasp of this virgin demon.</p><p>The grip doesn’t quite ease, but the angle does change, and a slip of an appendage loops around his chest to soothe the tension. Renjun lets out a full exhale relaxing into the position as he feels it pull his knees apart again.</p><p>The next feeling has him clenching his muscles again and whining out a sigh as it feels like he’s <em> licked </em> from knees to perineum, fluid sliding up in long strokes and slipping through the cut of his ass. It tickles against his hole as he gasps for breath, taking in lungfuls of musk too quickly. He can feel it slick down his arms in inelegant distraction, sheathing up to his elbows as it wetly investigates his anus.</p><p>He tries to take it silently, but a rivulet of what’s functionally a liquid entering him in <em> reverse </em> will never be regular. He whimpers as the entire demon drips down his upper arms and thighs and leaks its way into him in a <em> fuck you </em> to gravity. Or a <em> fuck Renjun. </em></p><p>He does his best to focus on the minute feelings since he can’t see a damn thing. He can feel a solid ring snug against his anus that contains what pressure it’s exerting on the viscid fluid that’s being pushed into a tight entrance. No prelude, no working him open.</p><p>Renjun sweats and closes his mouth before the saliva on his tongue slips out of him like that whimper did.</p><p>“Can you not—” He barely starts to say when it suddenly finds space inside his rectum and blooms there like the barrel of a syringe emptied into him in one push. It <em> stings </em> like a motherfucker and burns against his insides, and Renjun cries out as the demon doesn’t take his tension as a sign to stop. Words won’t form, though, as things that were inside his lining before dissolve and Renjun contorts under the twinging discomfort so strange and so harsh he can only grit his teeth and try not to scream. He contorts until his legs are held down by the demon’s necessity. His linings cramp like he’s being clawed from its stickiness, slogging through him and climbing as he bites down on a teary wail. The arm of the demon tightens around his chest like its hugging him through the initial moment, and Renjun wants out—he wants <em> out— </em></p><p>And then all at once, what was truly excruciating becomes absolutely mind-numbing bliss.</p><p>A moan is torn from him as he collapses, spine sparking white in pleasure. He feels his viscera relax almost like they’re slumping with him just as he sags, shaking while he feels his innards smooth and crackle in spasms of demon body caressing his walls. It feels like warm, thick aloe radiating pleasure and ease and comfort through his blood like it didn’t just make him cry.</p><p>Renjun swings forward as he relaxes fully into the feeling and lets himself be weighed down slowly from the inside out. The head of his dick bumps the swathes of demon beneath him, and his mind is so wiped by the last minute that he just makes a choked-off gurgle as pleasure streaks up his abdomen. He’s almost hiccuping his shallow breaths, his brain hazy and calm.</p><p>The demon feels cool now against his hot skin, the way it thrums softly against his encased arms and drips down his spine. He tries to push his consciousness into a traipse but feels lost and hushed before he can even begin. He can think it’s passed his rectum—he feels heavy—but his viscera feels muddled and pleasantly numbed, he’s blind and sensitive, and all he can focus on is the trickles of pleasure purring through his nerves and muscles.</p><p>Then, he feels the demon start to pull out again, leaving him in a weighted slosh that never splashes but furls heavy down the insides of his thighs. He feels his knees pushed apart further and the spark of shock as the head of his cock drags up against the thrumming grain.</p><p>Renjun shudders as he reaches near-empty, clenching mindlessly, worthlessly, as it begins to leave his rectum.</p><p>It doesn’t go far. Doesn’t leave him entirely.</p><p>He can feel a swirl and pulse just inside the ring of his anus, and even when he relaxes his muscles it doesn’t expel itself.</p><p>Dragging in a breath, he tries to anticipate, but clearing the fog in his head is like trying to fight sleep.</p><p>He doesn’t see it coming.</p><p>Of course he doesn’t.</p><p>He’s been rendered both blind and stupid.</p><p>His only warning is a tiny throb from the last piece inside him and then it is ramming hard and long up into him like a smooth mass of jetstream that reaches the ending bud of his rectum with a startling tingle.</p><p>Renjun chokes, lurching forward, head clearing for a terrifying moment, and then the entire thing pulls back again and he’s swinging, trying to catch his breath as he blinks against black.</p><p>It hadn’t hurt even remotely. It just startled him.</p><p>He gets that single thought before he’s getting rammed into again, but it pulls back faster this time and doesn’t wait for him to think anything before repeating the motion again and again, kissing his colon and making Renjun jerk with the force.</p><p>His mouth opens, but he can’t even breathe let alone make sound. He can’t grasp at anything, can hardly curve with the motion, is simply left with his cockhead rubbing up against the smooth body of the beast with no real friction. Its fluid pressure rubs his prostate with every long stroke as Renjun strains to do something with his arms, his legs. He can feel himself shake under every prolonged arc of pleasure, the rhythm and pressure unabating.</p><p>He thinks he must be crying again when his breath breaks through and makes him keen as the pressure builds behind his navel. The demon doesn’t change a damn thing.</p><p>Even among the black of his vision, he still sees white when he comes again, gasping, moaning things that echo in his ears, and only when he comes to does he realize the demon has left his insides completely. He's still hung by the arms, shaking like a leaf, lashed around the knees to keep his legs parted. His mind crashes in slow motion like a sand castle crumbling in a tide. Pleasure makes way for unease on his tongue. His ears are still ringing slightly, he can't see, and he can't think properly worth a damn.</p><p>Trembling, he tries to imagine what on earth it could be planning next. He’s exhausted and feels like a naked wire in how he swelters and sweats and tingles from the handling. His neck aches from hanging, straining, everything up until now. </p><p>The fear feels more bare, tired now, and less sensual. He knows how to tap out—will if he needs to though he hates to be the first to draw back. Even through thick layers of mental fog he can still push a summon back.</p><p>But still, he hopes it’s over.</p><p>He flinches when he feels two touches against his hips. He makes what can only be described as a squeak as he feels what must be a <em> face </em> up against the small of his back. The firm point of a nose up against his tailbone, the familiar wet pad of a tongue pressing up against his bare skin.</p><p>“Jaemin?” he sobs, because he only wants it to be Jaemin. Can’t handle the thought of getting fucked by the demon’s version of a humanoid. His arms feel prickly and bloodless, shoulders numb, and his cock feels bordering on too-sensitive.</p><p>He hears a hum, the timbre so like Jaemin’s voice his skin reacts in chills, and its—his maybe, hopefully—hands drag down the sides of his thighs where Renjun is shaking out of his skin. They feel the same right down to the band Jamin wears on his right ring finger.</p><p>Renjun mewls in shock, in a pathetic shred of vague sanity as he feels the hands rise to thumb his cheeks apart, and the tongue against his rim feels so <em> Jaemin </em> Renjun simply melts into a keen. It—he—swirls his tongue and nestles his face closer to suck on the lax ring of muscle. Renjun wants to fall. To rest against the ground and shake and whimper as Jaemin or the demon’s facsimile of him eats him out.</p><p>“Nana,” Renjun whispers. The demon’s musk has subsided only slightly, but he can still only use his brain to a portion of the degree he feels he needs to. “Let me see you,” he begs.</p><p>It doesn’t work. He just gets more tongue and more sucking and his dick trying to show interest but he can <em> feel </em> it weeping feebly much like its owner. </p><p>Renjun babbles pleas. “Nana, please let me see you. I miss you. I’m tired. Please.”</p><p>The demon or Jaemin lets go of his ass by the fifth appeal and slides its touch over his stomach and around, up his back to touch the creases of strain in Renjun’s shoulders.</p><p>“It’s really making a mess of you.” It’s Jaemin. That’s Jaemin. It can only be Jaemin.</p><p>Renjun chokes out another sob of desperation. “Jaemin-ah—” He doesn’t know what he wants. He feels like he’s going to pass out.</p><p>All at once, he’s ripped back into the kitchen, the demon diminishing suddenly like it’s been jerked back into its plane. Renjun’s arms and body fall, and he would have collapsed against the linoleum if it weren’t for Jaemin’s arms circling him. The nuzzle of his nose and breath against the side of his head. Renjun is gasping as his eyes and skin prickle, darts of pain from his shoulders waking up dispersing through his muscles. The light is already low. His eyes do not protest.</p><p>Jaemin doesn’t let him touch the floor. He’s adjusted and hitched up, then Jaemin is holding him behind the knees and ah. This is a bridal carry.</p><p>It’s Renjun’s first time.</p><p>“Sorry,” Jaemin says. “I’m not as good at sending them away.”</p><p>Jaemin’s hazy in Renjun’s leftover tears and bleary eyes. His pink hair looks rose gold like this as Jaemin slips up the narrow stairs of their tiny three-story mess of a townhome.</p><p>“Can I set you down on the bed?” Jaemin murmurs low and soft. If Renjun could move his arms, he would hook them around Jaemin’s neck to bring his skin closer and inhale him. Recall the way he smells of coffee and laundry instead of interplane mysteries.</p><p>Renjun doesn’t know how to speak.</p><p>Jaemin is very gentle lying him on the duvet, and from Renjun’s view of the ceiling, it seems to be Jaemin’s bunk. For cleaning checks and inspections, they need to support the facade that there are three beds in this townhome—one empty private in the room across the way and two in here.</p><p>Renjun and Jaemin both hope they can coax Jeno into that empty space.</p><p>A rush of water fills the gaps in the cool, dark air. Renjun’s arms are tingling now instead of in crisis mode.</p><p>He whines until Jaemin slips over atop him while the bathtub fills. His weight is heavier than the careful way he handles a great many things. Warm, safe. Demons aren’t good for aftercare, but Jaemin is.</p><p>“Did you have a good time?” Jaemin’s lips are against his jaw, leaving trace kisses of comfort. Renjun doesn’t want to move, but he has Jaemin’s every expression and appearance and outfit etched into his bones. He doesn’t need to see him.</p><p>“Intense,” Renjun whispers because he’s not sure he can expect much more from his voice.</p><p>“Bad? Good?”</p><p>He knows why Jaemin is asking. It’s important to have knowledge in this wild relationship with the interplane.</p><p>“Good,” he says, because it leans that way. “Some never again.”</p><p>Jaemin laughs against his skin, then leaves once more.</p><p>Renjun feels cold. He feels a tear slip free before he even realizes it formed.</p><p>The sounds of water stop and there are some vague noises Renjun doesn’t have the energy to understand. When Jaemin returns, it’s to carry him to the tub and into the hot water—not so hot it burns, but hot enough to snake through his pores and into his lungs almost immediately.</p><p>There are bath salts. Renjun’s head clears a little more, and he sinks into the brine.</p><p>“I love you,” Renjun says, and looks over to where Jaemin’s sitting on the edge of the tub, henley sleeves scrunched up to his elbows and hair is a messy tousle. </p><p>Jaemin smiles, warm eyes glimmering. “That’s lucky. I love you too.”</p><p>“Can you clean out the air downstairs, too?” Renjun mumbles.</p><p>“Sure can.” Jaemin slides his hand into the water to caress Renjun’s outer thigh gently and up his waist. Renjun’s eyes flutter closed for a moment, but he doesn’t miss how Jaemin flicks the water off his fingers toward Renjun’s toes and wipes his palm on the nearby towel. “I’ll come back after I’ve opened the windows and checked the floor.”</p><p>“Mm,” Renjun hums, and tilts his head in a request Jaemin always seems to understand.</p><p>He does.</p><p>He dips down to kiss him. Soft, chapped, gentle.</p><p>Renjun thinks that the moment Jaemin leaves, he passes out a little against the back of the tub, bath salts and hot water scrubbing away the grime and residue. As always, no matter what, he feels good.</p><p>He waits for Jaemin to come back.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next chapter: norenmin</p><p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>After 4 months of grueling work over this single chapter, Purple Green is done! I rewrote over half of it, and that was painful but just the thing it needed ;; I appreciate the patience.</p><p>Thank you for everyone's support, and enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The windows are open in a breezy daylight, squeezing into every corner of the topmost room where the windows face the afternoon sun. There are pieces of Jaemin and Renjun both in the room, but they’re interspersed and largely indistinguishable—there’s no clear divide between sides, and more often than not, the two beds are pushed together. One has a bedspread of lilac and lemon, the sheets crisscrossing in madras. The other is mostly blues and whites in generic boyish stripes, and together it’s a hodgepodge of clashing patterns and, as it were in that very moment, clashing breaths.</p><p>Renjun has been carrying an enduring strain between his shoulders where he collects anxiety and stress, whereas Jaemin has been getting more slippery as of late. A little less focused in an uneasy, too-many-thoughts way. He has a bruise on his shin, now, from when he wasn’t paying attention while walking through a townhome he has memorized, and now he would have bruises scattered across his collarbones as an act of distraction.</p><p>Jaemin’s fingers tangle in Renjun’s hair as his boyfriend skates his touch down his sides and the smooth curves of muscle in his arms. “Should we be this nervous?” Jaemin asks the sunlit air, voice trembling at the edges for the attention Renjun’s pressing into his skin.</p><p>Renjun slips further down and takes one of Jaemin’s nipples into his mouth, making Jaemin bite down on a sigh. He doesn’t get an answer right away as Renjun swirls his tongue and presses the pad of it against him, soft and warm. Jaemin tugs gently on his hair and Renjun shivers, removing his mouth and drawing a wrist across his lips. He leans into his fingers like a cat when Jaemin rubs his fingertips against his scalp. “I don’t know,” he says finally.</p><p>They’ve considered everything under the sun by now. Jeno could be asking to meet with them to expose them, interview them, give them a piece of his mind. He could find it creepy that they hardly know each other. He might not even recognize them—working the job he does must be hell. Jaemin can’t imagine being mentally present for the entirety of every shift. Hell, he’s not even mentally present <em> ever </em> as a waiter. Especially when he’s getting hit on, which is why they’ve never done that to Jeno until he looked dead on his feet.</p><p>The work they did to his apartment was a slightly tipsy escapade. Jaemin’s lockpicking skills are only enhanced by inebriation, against all odds, because he is considerably less nervous about doing something illegal. They did their best not to intrude farther than simply creating a gate for a demon to intrude <em> for </em>them. They freaked out only in retrospect and held onto their share of cursed paper like it was haunted.</p><p>Jeno didn’t write any smiley faces or hearts or exclamation points, so they are simply clinging to optimism at this point.</p><p>“Stop thinking about it,” Renjun says, thumbing at the crinkle between Jaemin’s brows. “You won’t come up with anything new.”</p><p>Jaemin huffs out a laugh, but then Renjun’s rolling his hips and Jaemin just scrunches his face up and tilts his chin back to accommodate the sudden attention his groin is getting. “Fine,” Jaemin wheezes, and reaches to yank Renjun back down to his lips so he can die on his tongue and against the steady grind of his clothed hips.</p><p>He keeps his fingers running through Renjun’s hair, then down to the base of his neck where he presses his fingertips into the knots there until Renjun’s giving up short, soft moans up against Jaemin’s mouth. They’re not wanton. They’re just nice and touching against Jaemin’s lips like little tingles of appreciation.</p><p>“God, I love you,” Jaemin says gently, and Renjun whines and sags completely on top of Jaemin like a stone. Jaemin scratches at his scalp and kisses his temple, still hard as hell in his jeans and pressed up against Renjun’s own erection, but they have time.</p><p>Their sex together has changed a lot over the years. When demons fuck the everliving daylights out of them every few days, sometimes it’s nice to just slow down and revel in the tiny pleasures. Like the flutter of Renjun’s eyelashes on his neck.</p><p>“I love you too,” Renjun murmurs against his skin, and Jaemin feels Renjun’s steady heartbeat through his skin, his muscles, his ribcage.</p>
<hr/><p>The coffee shop is quaint, as many coffee shops are wont to be. There’s a sort of rough wood paneling all around, covering the brick walls midway, and there’s a station for trained pets to hydrate. The entire place smells like coffee, baked goods, and the thrumming anxiety in Jaemin’s jiggling leg.</p><p>“It’s fine,” Renjun reiterates. “He can’t hurt us.”</p><p>“But what if we hurt <em> him?” </em> Jaemin definitely means in past tense. They’re not going to hurt him now. Wouldn’t even though they can. There are benefits from being marked by demons.</p><p>“Then we’ll apologize, baby,” Renjun reminds him softly, and rubs his palm down the length of Jaemin’s thigh. All at once Jaemin goes relatively motionless and thumbs at the rim of his cup. Jaemin is either agitated or still as stone. Renjun rather likes both modes. “I, personally, think it’ll be worse if he’s more attractive than the last time we saw him.”</p><p>Jaemin downright blanches as he stares at the wall in front of them. “I cannot. No. Will not conceive of that.”</p><p>Renjun snorts an undignified giggle and squeezes Jaemin’s thigh as he reaches to sip his coffee again. To be honest, they’ve already seen him just prior to this. They did not mean to, but they needed fresh produce and the odds of meeting Jeno at the grocery was relatively slim.</p><p>Renjun’s been proud of their restraint in the sense that they haven’t put any effort into memorizing his rotation at the store—they only really know for sure that he almost always works Tuesday evenings, and Renjun and Jaemin try to not choose that time for their shopping sprees too often. If they did encounter him at work, they treated him like anyone else. It was an effort, but it was also easy. He was sweet.</p><p>But in any case, <em> god, </em> he looked amazing. Not only was there a thrill of shock and horror at accidentally seeing him before they were meant to, but it was mildly traumatizing to see someone genuinely beautiful become impossibly moreso. Pearl has that effect. A lot of demons have that effect. Getting a good fuck even <em> without </em>demons has an effect, but there’s something in their chemicals that not only clocks a human into another realm of relaxation, but also tweaks their bodies back into shape.</p><p>Jeno <em> glowed. </em></p><p>It was, frankly, upsetting.</p><p>They avoided his checkout lane for self-preservation alone.</p><p>Renjun holds his coffee in his mouth as he ponders the image Jeno inadvertently burned into his retinas. He almost chokes on it when, speak of the devil with no puns intended, Jeno is <em> there, </em>sliding into the chair across from them and blinking his soft, dark eyes like an apparition from the second circle of hell.</p><p>Renjun has swallowed properly now, but he has no words. He planned some, but he’s too startled by the sudden appearance of their affection’s subject that he’s effectively useless.</p><p>“Hi,” Jaemin rasps out, which is better than the whole load of nothing Renjun’s got while staring at Jeno’s face like he’s a new breed of nightmare.</p><p>He’s wearing his glasses, and his brown hair is floppy and boyish, tickling his temples and brow. There’s something about his composition of sharp planes and just-barely softened edges that make him breathtaking on an average day. The difference now—weeks after the entanglement, are subtle enough that they really don’t make much of a difference, Renjun thinks, so he must simply be smitten as always.</p><p>“Hi,” Jeno says in return, and it’s really something else to be spoken to by a crush he’s compounded into an infinite loop with his established boyfriend. Especially since they’ve outed themselves, now: Jeno knows what they do, how they are, what they want from him. He hopes desperately that Jeno doesn’t feel obliged or pressured in any way, though he can’t quite imagine by what.</p><p>“You—” Renjun falters, clears his throat, and tries to pull himself together. “You look nice.”</p><p>There’s this twitch in Jeno’s nose like he’s found something funny, or cute, or maybe he’s just anxious and expressing a tic. “Thank you. I tried a little.”</p><p>It’s awkward and overwhelming. He tried a little. Brilliant. He looks good enough to hurt, and his voice is nice, and they want to get to know him so badly they did something as reckless as set up a summoning circle and then… this.</p><p>“I think it paid off,” Jaemin says, and it’s such a blatantly flirtatious move that Renjun hides his face in his hands. He can hear the chatter from the people at the table behind them, talking about how dry the cookies are at an <em> actual bakery compared to this place. </em> “It’s nice to meet you properly,” Jaemin continues, words fitted around a nervous but glowing smile. “I don’t know if you recognize us.”</p><p>“Grocery store,” Jeno says simply, and smiles enough that his eyes scrunch. “You’re hard to miss, I think.”</p><p>Just then, the barista calls out Jeno’s name and he lifts himself out of his seat to collect his order, though not without giving a softer, more pointed smile at them.</p><p>‘Hard to miss.’ If only they were uglier or more awkward outside of this precise situation and they could imagine he meant it in a bad way. But no. No, he probably meant the opposite, which is devastating.</p><p>Jaemin seems to collapse as soon as his back is turned, head hanging back, a quiet groan crackling in his throat.</p><p>“It’s nerve-wracking,” Renjun agrees, and there’s nothing more to say until Jeno sits down again with a wide, white mug of hot chocolate.</p><p>Jaemin stares at Jeno’s drink, looking only half-present.</p><p>“Grocery store,” Jeno says again, “but I don’t know your names.”</p><p>“Can we—” Jaemin starts. “Can we establish that you’re not going to try to destroy us for giving an egg-laying demon an in to your bedroom?”</p><p>Jeno hesitates, then laughs short and soft as he scratches the nape of his neck and tilts his head as if unsure. “I think I’m in good company,” he says, “when I say I’d let it do it again. Um.” There is a blush, now, tinting the tan of his face, and he lifts his mug to sip as Jaemin scrutinizes his expression with a blatant desperation.</p><p>To Renjun, he looks honest.</p><p>“My name is Jaemin,” is finally put out there, and Renjun offers his name up, too.</p><p>“Are you a couple?” Jeno asks, hesitant and belated.</p><p>Before Renjun can think—he figures that would be the worst option for being honest at the moment— he says, “Looking for a third.”</p><p>And Jeno goes  more pink, murmuring an, “Oh.” into the lip of his mug. “Am I getting tested?”</p><p>Jaemin’s voice is strained and bendy when he says, “Kind of?”</p><p>“Is part of the test demons, or are they the reward?”</p><p>“W-we’re the reward,” Jaemin falters.</p><p>“The demons are part of the test,” Renjun agrees.</p><p>“Then I’ll do fine,” Jeno says, the sudden confidence emerging out of his blush stunning, “and I’m motivated by the reward, I think.”</p><p>“You think,” Jaemin says, faint.</p><p>“I don’t know you,” Jeno says, “but I’m—” He stares into his mug and the hot chocolate already nervously half-gone. “—attracted to you, so.”</p><p>“Neat,” says Jaemin, and Renjun laughs, feeling lighter as opposed to verging on histrionic astral projection. They can work from this.</p><p>Renjun pushes into the rest of cordial conversation, trying to learn something about Jeno aside from the fact that he’s stunning and his smile makes his heart flop like an elderly lizard thrown around by the tail before it falls off.</p><p>Among other things, they learn he’s in veterinary sciences despite his allergy to dandruff, and Jaemin and Renjun exchange that they are Social Work and Medical Physics majors, respectively.</p><p>“What do you do for an income?” Jeno asks eventually, and Renjun bites the bullet.</p><p>“I’m a TA and I draw hentai.”</p><p>Jeno laughs, and Renjun is grateful and laughs too because <em> jesus fucking christ. </em>This boy really rolls with the punches.</p><p>“I’m a waiter,” Jaemin says, and Jeno rebuts, “And a model?”</p><p>Jaemin pauses, and short-circuits, and Renjun’s still laughing into his cup because the answer is yes. Yes, Jaemin is definitely his hentai model. Jaemin is many things to Renjun, and he shamelessly thinks that Jaemin looks beautiful half asleep with his hair sticking up and pillow lines on his face as well as with a tentacle up his ass.</p><p>“Do you pay him?” Jeno asks Renjun, sounding warm.</p><p>Renjun shrugs. “We share living costs.”</p><p>Jaemin blurts, “Would you like to see it?”</p><p>“Your expenses?” Jeno asks, voice richer and less restrained by every minute they spend talking to him. Renjun feels sexual tension in his <em> nose, </em> it’s so strong, and it’s driving him crazy.</p><p>“Our <em> home, </em>Jeno,” Jaemin near-pleads, and by the time Jeno’s agreeing, Jaemin’s already pulling him toward the exit. Renjun laughs, adrenaline skidding through his veins as he tidies up the table before slipping on after them—leaving the apparent daylight and blatant humanity for something a little more liminal. More liminal and certainly less complicated.</p>
<hr/><p>Not being unreasonable, Renjun and Jaemin simply give him an address and allow him to drive his own car. It isn’t that he doesn’t trust them in particular, but he doesn’t exactly trust strangers on principle, so being allowed this mobility is a comfort.</p><p>The complex he’s brought to is a face of pale, grey-blue building with curtained windows that look out into the street. There are four main walkways, each with a little set of stairs that lead up to two doors. Jaemin sits at the top of the stairs for the very last pair, wrists crossed over his knees and a brilliant smile on his face that has Jeno crossing the street at a half-jog.</p><p>He’s never paid too much attention to these two whenever they collide with his work shifts, but it’s always been unreasonably difficult not to notice them. It’s often just one of them, and the magnetism doesn’t reduce with only half of a pair. He’s going to inevitably find his eyes drawn to them on sheer accident whenever they’re there, and then he’ll work the rest of his shift in their presence with hyperfocus. Otherwise his eyes will drift.</p><p>There’s something different about them that the word “dazzling” almost encompasses.</p><p>Jaemin stands as he reaches the stairs, holding out his hand for Jeno’s. Jeno slows, and he takes it, and he realizes Jaemin looks more relaxed, now, than he did in the cafe.</p><p>He supposes he’s been bagged. At least for the afternoon.</p><p>“Glad you didn’t get lost,” Jaemin says, voice atwinkle, and knots their fingers together. As Jeno meets him on the same step, Jaemin’s free hand slides from Jeno’s wrist to his inner elbow, and his smile quirks into something soft and concerned. The touch ignites a flash of goosebumps up his arm, and Jaemin’s following words help him in no measure. “Are you in the mood?”</p><p>It’s been difficult getting himself to <em> not </em> be in the mood for the past two weeks. It’s almost surreal, now, to know that there’s <em> something </em>—regardless of the fact that he has no idea what to expect—so close he’s practically there.</p><p>Jeno doesn’t know quite what to say, but he makes an effort to ease Jaemin’s worry. “If it’s anything like the first time, yes.”</p><p>Jaemin beams at him with a nod and steps back to open the left door, taking his wandering hand with him. Jeno follows in through the entrance without forcing Jaemin to tug him along. He wants to be here—there’s a thrill riding through his nerves as he steps over the threshold.</p><p>Immediately visible is Renjun slipping out of the entrance sitting room with a pen between his teeth, a few raggedy notebooks under his arm, and two mugs in his hands. He makes a muffled sound in greeting as he escapes with the last traces of their clutter.</p><p>The room is brimmed at the windows with potted creeping plants and pothos, books stacked on the worn couch’s end-tables. Above the perpendicular loveseat is a collection of framed photos. On the coffee table is a nearly-finished puzzle of some Klimt painting, there’s a stairwell right in front of them leading upstairs, and the windows are wide and open, glazing the sweet green paint with a blush of pale.</p><p>“Normal,” he comments before he can think, and Jaemin’s laughter knocks into him, summoning a reactionary gasp of humor from his throat before he can think. “Sorry—”</p><p>“Don’t be,” Jaemin hums, mirth colorful in his tone, and only then lets go of his hand. From there, he toes off his shoes, takes off his socks, and doesn’t exchange for one of the slipper sets near the door. He moves past him, edging around the bottom of the stairwell. “You’re right,” he admits. “Not very demonic of a sitting room, right?” He smiles, everything about the way his lips part over his teeth pretty and clever and warm. </p><p>“Do you have a dungeon?” Jeno asks, teasing as much as he is curious as he follows suit and takes his shoes and socks off, and he can hear Renjun choke on a snort the room over just as the water shuts off. While he follows Jaemin’s lead further into the townhome, he’s able to steal a glance of the photos on the wall. They’re a collection of nature shots and snippets of hands, toes, knees. Perhaps owned by either of them. Charming, and still not demonic.</p><p>“Kinda,” Jaemin says, and beckons him to the little hallway leading to where Renjun is. A door to the right leads off into a stairwell downwards, and just as Jaemin flips on the light, Renjun comes up behind them both with three water bottles.</p><p>“Did you get dehydrated the first time?” Renjun asks, handing one off to him. It’s cold against his palm, and he doesn’t immediately follow Jaemin as the boy descends the stairs. He obviously doesn’t know either one of them well, and he’s only seen them in a few other settings, but there’s something about Renjun in this small space between the stairwell and the door to the hallway—liminal, he supposes—that makes Renjun smaller and greater than he’s seen yet. Jeno feels like Renjun could push him against the narrow wall and make him cry while still seeming almost delicate.</p><p>“What?” Jeno forgets.</p><p>“Dehydrated?” Renjun repeats, eyes sparkling, and he doesn’t even wait for Jeno to redeem himself. He simply pats his hip with the hand he frees by tucking one bottle into the crook of his arm, huffs a laugh, and passes him down the stairs.</p><p>Jeno feels like he touched his naked skin.</p><p>He steadies himself with the handrail as he follows after Renjun—if only so he can pretend, for a little longer, that he’s not as aroused as he actually is.</p><p>When he turns the corner at the bottom of the stairs, the space opens up into something spacious and sparse and little else. There’s one couch against the wall folded over with hemmed plastic, then softened with some pillows and blankets that Jaemin is currently rearranging. The synthetic wood flooring under his feet is cool and pleasantly grooved, the walls are a charcoal black, and there’s an open lock box on the thick sill of the escape window.</p><p>There is nothing else.</p><p>That is, nothing aside from a drawing on the floor that promptly shoots a shudder through his guts.</p><p>It’s sprawling compared to the one that used to be in his studio apartment—intricate, bold and precise, definitely pretty, and now that he knows what it is and does, not in the least unnerving. He drops the water bottle over his crotch if only because it feels too early in the demon fucking game to be developing pavlovian responses to art.</p><p>Renjun watches from near the windowsill and smiles when Jeno catches him looking, hand curling around the rod that closes the blinds. “You’re going to want to drink some of that,” he suggests, and Jeno wonders if he’s being teased. Then again, Jaemin’s emptying his own a quarter way from where he sits on the couch.</p><p>Jaemin twists the cap back on and rests it between the cushions of the couch. “How do you want to do this, Jeno?” he asks, and the light dims as the blinds close. “Do you want us to tell you what’s going to happen, or do you want to figure it out on your own?”</p><p>Jeno fiddles with his water bottle, blinking to focus rather than let this weird intersection of nerves and anticipation blind him. “Is there anything I need to know?”</p><p>“If you keep your head,” Renjun says, stepping back from the window and gripping the hem of his shirt with his wrists crossed, “it will never harm you.” He pulls his shirt off in one movement, and his hair flips and settles once the neck passes. It seems so adolescent to Jeno that all he can suddenly focus on is the soft brown of Renjun’s nipples. And yet.</p><p>“I’ll have control of the situation,” says Jaemin as Renjun folds his shirt and places it on the windowsill, “so if at any point it’s no longer enjoyable to you, give me a yellow to make things slow down or a red to stop.”</p><p>The stoplight system is familiar to Jeno, if only conceptually, so he nods, watching Renjun pull out of the open lockbox some very familiar-looking black chalk about the length and width of Jeno’s pinky finger.</p><p>“Should I take off my clothes?” Jeno asks as Renjun steps toward the summoning circle. He earns a smile for the question, but Jeno looks to Jaemin and sees the glimmer of delight in his eyes as he stands from the cushions.</p><p>“Oh, we’d love that,” he says, and Jeno feels heat flush his chest while Jaemin nears him, his bare feet making soft sounds on the dry floor. He holds his breath, kind of, as Jaemin gets close enough to where Jeno can see his lower lashes, the crease on his bottom lip where it’s dry and soft, the shiest imperfections in his skin that make him seem less unreal. “It’s probably a good idea. May I touch you?”</p><p>Jeno sways forward just enough to almost feel the tingle of proximity between his lips and Jaemin’s, and perhaps that’s enough of an answer because Jaemin’s hands move forward to brush Jeno’s knuckles and gently move the water bottle out of his grip. </p><p>The way the skin on his hands seems to almost sting convinces him he’s never been quite this horny in his life, and he’s unsure if he should be ashamed of it.</p><p>“I really need you to drink some water, Jeno,” Jaemin tells him, and there’s the sound of the seal cracking and the feel of Jaemin’s breath grazing Jeno’s mouth.</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“Then can I kiss you?” Jaemin says, voice low and gritty and still soft.</p><p>It takes immense effort to even lean away from him to make room for the bottle. He can’t imagine shaking his head no.</p><p>The water hits his tongue cold and mellow, and he takes about a fourth just as Jaemin had before he’s giving up the bottle again for the lid Jaemin’s holding. Capped, Jaemin places it on the floor near their feet. Jeno’s heart ticks in his throat and he leans in without prelude as Jaemin straightens. The taste of Jaemin’s laugh against his mouth reminds him of clover honey.</p><p>Jaemin isn’t shy in returning the gesture. He steps further into Jeno’s space and holds onto his hip with one hand, pressing into him and skating his other up to his neck to close any more distance. It’s been longer than Jeno can accurately cite since he’d last kissed someone—not out of prudishness, but out of a lack of urgency. He doesn’t go around craving kisses. Not until he’s being led along a tightrope of tension and tasting traces of coffee right out of Jaemin’s mouth.</p><p>He threads his fingers into the hair of Jaemin’s nape, then to his crown, licking behind his teeth and feeling the buzz of his heart up in his head. The reciprocation is languid but imbued with a tension that tempts him into a groan. He holds it back, but barely, and Jaemin only pulls away enough to lock his mouth around Jeno’s bottom lip and roll his tongue against it. Jeno regains the breath he lost, then devotes himself to feeling Jaemin slowly drift his lips down to his throat. Jeno shudders out an exhale when Jaemin rubs the flat of his tongue against the morning-shorn hairs at his chin.</p><p>Already uncomfortable and heady in the most gratifying ways, he tilts his head back and opens his eyes to the ceiling. “Can I help you get your clothes off?” Jaemin asks, lips vibrating against his adam’s apple, and he ever so delicately bites the fragile skin there. It takes until he’s sucking forgiveness into his skin that the question registers.</p><p>“Please,” he says but startles when he feels a different set of hands on his waist. Jaemin laughs into his neckline.</p><p>“Easy,” Renjun hums right up next to his ear, the timbre like the most precise, sweet scratch down from the base of his skull to the small of his back. He breathes out and revels in the touch of Renjun’s lips against his ear. “There’re two of us.”</p><p>He lets them take off his clothes, savoring the way Renjun thumbs at the skin of his ribs, how he kisses between his shoulder blades when the shirt comes off; Jaemin leans back and tugs down his pants until it’s just straining cotton and the hum of his lips against the waistband.</p><p>“God, you’re pretty,” Jaemin says and it knocks Jeno down from the haze of the moment, rushing a flush up his chest in a more lucid understanding that he’s being stripped by two near-strangers in a basement. Jaemin looks up at him from the ground where he has his legs knelt to the side and his eyelashes lowered. His thumbs press into the muscles above his knee.</p><p>“Thank you,” he murmurs, and then Renjun’s fingertips are edging under his waistband, and his hands are hot against the skin of his hips, and he’s running out of breath.</p><p>“Green?” Renjun asks, not moving any further than to press his touch firmer against him.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Are you still comfortable?”</p><p>He isn’t comfortable, but comfort underestimates how sleepy it makes him. This way, he’s viscerally conscious of his own blood, his skin, his body, his heart rushing in his ears. “Green,” he says and shudders as Renjun immediately slides his briefs off his hips and Jaemin tugs his clothes away from his ankles.</p><p>Jeno has one moment of disoriented shifting before he keys into a sound Renjun lets out, endearment and attraction swallowing his irises until Jeno only sees sclera and black. As Jaemin sets the stripped clothes aside, Renjun stares at Jeno’s crotch. Jeno feels like he’s drowning from the heat in his chest, and it only gets worse when Renjun reaches down to tangle his fingers in his curls. The curve of Renjun’s thumbnail brushes up against the base of his dick.</p><p>Jeno swallows down an overwhelming haze of embarrassment. “Shaving makes me uncomf—”</p><p>“You’re perfect,” Renjun interrupts, softly but with adamance. He gives a gentle tug. Jeno staggers and steps up naked into Renjun’s half-clothed space, gasping and trying not to squirm as his groin tingles. He’s dragged down by the nape for a firm, determined kiss on the mouth, and he loses out on beating back a whine when Renjun fists his shaft.</p><p>In the shaky blur where he’s just starting to sweat and feel a little drunk, he gets lost against Renjun’s mouth and the firm hand Renjun has at his neck. It’s only when Renjun holds his jaw and breaks from the kiss to turn his head for him, one hand pressing at his hip, that he sees that he’s missed any events at all. </p><p>He didn’t realize they turned his back to the circle, he didn’t see who did the summon or when, he just sees Jaemin stripped down and sitting cross-legged in handsome quiet at the edge of…god. There’s like. A hole in the floor.</p><p>Where the summoning circle was is now a pit in that exact shape, covered to the edges with a whole mass of short, thick bulbs of some kind. They breathe or pulse or thrum with silent life, and nerves return to Jeno’s belly.</p><p>They’re not black this time. They’re a sweet, pink-speckled, translucent cream, and when Jeno steps closer to see their details properly, he sees little budded slits at their thin tips and a deeper blush of pink toward the center tentacles at the bottom, ever so slightly different in shape but only barely. There has to be at least sixty bulbing from the hole’s walls and floor, and there’s already a sort of fluid gathering at the bottom of this new unfathomable pit.</p><p>“You look stressed,” says Jaemin, and Jeno becomes conscious of this gentle motion Renjun’s making, smoothing his hand over the muscles of his lower back. “Come sit with me?”</p><p>He moves, skimming around the edge, transfixed by their subtle motion and blush. Renjun stays and slips out of his jeans while Jeno sits and takes the demon—demons?—in. Jaemin lays his hand on Jeno’s knee, warm and not pushing for anything.</p><p>“They’re kind of cute,” Jeno says aloud, and the little laugh Jaemin lets out makes it sound like he’s been punched. Jeno looks over with an apologetic correction on his tongue, but Jaemin’s looking at him like he’s the best thing he’s ever seen.</p><p>Jeno isn’t sure how to respond, simply settling on understanding the pooling liquid that’s started to cover the bottom of the hole like a pool filling, and the smooth, tiny pulsations in the little sprouts of tentacles. He feels Renjun come up behind him and stroke his fingers through his hair, the naked skin of his thigh brushing up against his shoulder blade. He leans back, shivering with the realization of how easily these boys are touching him, and finds the bone of Renjun’s pelvis with his skull. He’s sure if he dared to turn his head, he could brush his nose against Renjun’s dick, and that knowledge makes his own twitch.</p><p>“These’re pods,” Renjun says, still running his fingers through Jeno’s hair. It stirs up the nerves in his scalp and trickles down his vertebrae like a breath against the fine hairs of his skin. For a demon-fucking escapade, this experience is sure doing strange things to his heart. “They’re not mobile, but they do have tongues.”</p><p>Jeno makes a noise, failing to see or understand but feeling very alright with not knowing just yet—he took a handful of tentacles up his ass for his first encounter with a demon. He’s not scared. The nerves are dispersing as he accustoms himself to the Strange, and he’s enjoying the way Jaemin’s hand slides up his leg. The tiny tease of his pinky finger against the crease of his thigh.</p><p>“Are you feeling ready?” Jaemin asks, rubbing his fingers into Jeno’s muscles, and he’s so close to pulling him in again and biting his tongue. Jaemin is beautiful naked. Jeno can’t explain how the hair on his bare legs and the short nest of black curls to contrast his pink hair make him feel like he’s going to fall into the hole in the floor entirely by accident.</p><p>“I think so,” Jeno tells them both.</p><p>Jaemin smiles, pushes himself toward the edge, and slides in.</p><p>The squashy, crunchy sound Jeno expects isn't there when Jaemin’s feet touch the demon-lined bottom. Instead, the whole organism shudders from the inside out and oozes like a pressed-on tongue giving up saliva. Jaemin hums in appreciation, wiggling his toes and letting out a soft breath for a deep inhale. </p><p>He moves, skimming his fingertips along the walls of the hole as he walks carefully around the bottom. Fluid wells up in the cracks between bulbs and drools in long threads of thin drops, flowing quickly until it’s already at the tops of Jaemin’s feet. It’s only so deep a hole as to rub its edge at Jaemin’s shoulder, but it’s wide enough that even with all three of them in there, they could probably comfortably spread their arms.</p><p>Renjun moves from behind Jeno to sit right next to him, folded leg knocking into his knee, and Jeno can’t even appreciate Renjun’s neatly-landscaped and uncut half-mast before Renjun is following Jaemin into the hole. Jaemin <em> glitters </em> at Renjun, and Renjun bends in to whisper something at his ear. Even seeing that chases a shiver down Jeno’s back, and he scoots closer to the edge.</p><p>When he unfurls just slightly, his heel brushes the surface of one of the pods. It’s soft and wet like a smooth sponge covered in conditioner, and the cold he expects isn’t there, either. Instead, it’s faintly warm. He’s ready to stop expecting anything, now, and his brain’s filling with static anyway.</p><p>He pushes himself in and the demon against the soles of his feet feels like slippery, thick-weave carpet. Renjun catches his elbow when he stretches out his arm for balance, Jeno curls his toes, and the smell finally reaches him. It’s faintly sweet matched with an earthy smell he associates with green things, and it tingles oddly in his nose like a sneeze before settling.</p><p>He doesn’t have a lot of time to process before he’s being tugged in, the fluid up past his ankles, and pulled down for a kiss from Renjun.</p><p>Giving in is easy. He doesn’t know where this demonic pit is going except up with fluid, thrumming in synchrony under his feet, slowing its heartbeat as Renjun parts Jeno’s lips and sucks a moan off his tongue. Shivers rake up his spine and claw through his brain until he’s pushed against one of the walls and feels the demon wet against his back.</p><p>It gushes under his skin and leaks down the backs of his angled thighs as Renjun tilts Jeno’s face with his fingers and pulls a disgusting kiss from him. It’s all spit and tongue and teeth and Jeno’s already gasping by the time Renjun’s hip bumps against the head of his cock.</p><p>Realizing the fluid’s up to his knees by the time he regains a little of his head wrestles a whine from him. He can hear Jaemin laugh, pleasant, and breaks the kiss to see him not so far from them. He’s one foot away at best, seated so the slick is just breaching his pecs, fingers submerged and stroking up and down his inner thigh while the other hand thumbs at the sharp bone of Renjun’s ankle.</p><p>Renjun is breathless, flush high in his cheeks.</p><p>“Sit,” Jaemin suggests, “before you both come untouched without the demon in your system.”</p><p>Renjun breathes out his nose, gaze hard and intense on Jeno’s eyes, then lips, and then the focus breaks and Renjun lowers himself to the demon floor. Jeno lets himself slide down the wall, the demon reacting and spilling handfuls of fluid over his shoulders. The scent is deeper, the pulse stronger down here, and the clear fluid is viscous enough that it almost holds him.</p><p>The demon pulses against his legs, his back, and now that he’s mostly submerged, he can feel the fluid actually moving—flowing slowly, sliding over his thighs like slow, warm aloe, moving like a current. Instead of feeling like he’s in a lukewarm jacuzzi, he feels downright fondled, and it pushes a breath up through his chest until he tilts his chin back and tries not to touch himself. </p><p>His skin starts to tingle while Jaemin slides into his lap, smoothing his wet hands up over Jeno’s drenched neck and through the tufted hairs at his nape. “What happens if it gets into my mouth?” Jeno asks, voice strange in his own ears. As he drifts his attention over Jaemin’s body, he sees bright, glowing furls of pink floral designs stretching up his left side like a tattoo. He doesn’t know what it is, but it’s beautiful.</p><p>“Wanna find out?” Jaemin asks, slick thumb pressing into the corner of his mouth.</p><p>Every part of his submerged body is beginning to feel warm and weighted like they’re buried under sun-soaked sand. He can feel how he hasn’t flagged yet but doesn’t yet feel blue-balled. Can feel the tingle of electricity of Jaemin sitting near his knees, so close to the jut of his cock that his head swims slightly.</p><p>He breathes out through parted lips and turns his head, taking Jaemin’s thumb into his mouth.</p><p>It’s bitter and stringently green—unpleasant enough that his nose scrunches on instinct and Jaemin trembles out a laugh as he lets Jeno’s tongue flex against the pad of his finger—and then it is sweet. Smooth and slippery and sweet, and Jeno closes his lips around Jaemin’s thumb just to suck on his skin and watch how Jaemin’s breath goes high in his chest.</p><p>The fluid has risen to Jeno’s underarms, tickling the hairs there. Jaemin draws his thumb out only to offer three dripping fingers to Jeno’s bottom lip, and Jeno sucks them in, slimmer than the demon tentacle in his first tryst, bonier and more human. Jaemin’s pinky knuckle digs into his bottom lip, Jeno searches his tongue in the low webbing of Jaemin’s fingers, and he gets to see a fever rise in Jaemin’s chest and eyes. He feels the way Jaemin fidgets his fingers around Jeno’s mouth, pinches gently at his tongue.</p><p>Renjun is watching. Jeno can feel it if he takes a moment to split his consciousness out of the rising fluid line, Jaemin’s fingers, the way his mind is slowly slipping as drool collects down his chin and his chest fills with slow-mulling sparks.</p><p>When Renjun slips close with his mouth at Jeno’s shoulder, his hand skimming through the slow current to graze over his nipples, Jeno is not startled—it nonetheless startles a shock through him, though, and he feels something in his consciousness, nearly physical, snap and leak like a broken glowstick. </p><p>Jaemin raises up off his lap just as the fluid touches Jeno’s chin.</p><p>“Hold your breath,” he warns him, voice dripping in huskiness, and Jeno feels Renjun’s fingertips trail down to hold his hand, resting as it is at the bottom of the pool, forgetting to do anything at all.</p><p>Jeno curls his fingers around Renjun’s hand, holds his breath, and closes his eyes just as Jaemin pushes down on his shoulders and he is submerged.</p><p>There’s nothing he can compare it to. It’s not water, it’s not spit, it’s not mud or anything Jeno can remotely use his life experience to comprehend. It feels thicker than he thought once he’d under. He’s under and he’s warming up gently like he’s being sunk into by sunlight the consistency of runny custard.</p><p>His lungs don’t even throb for air before he’s being pulled up again, and the fluid runs off him heavy webs. He feels fingers rake his hair back and he’s parting his lips for air, tasting the sweetness off his own lips, still holding Renjun’s hand.</p><p>He hasn’t even opened his eyes yet before he’s being helped to stand, slick against the firm lines of a quarter-dry body, and his lips are found in a kiss. A kiss that starts at his lips, then trails up his cheeks until their mouth is hot against his eyelids and he can feel every tastebud as the fluid is sucked away from his fragile skin.</p><p>Shuddering, laughing, he clings to this boy who kisses his nose before moving to his other eye, and when he cracks the clean one open, it’s Renjun. There’s something lividly beautiful about him—the kind of beautiful that’s startling so up close when the soft, tentative charm has fallen away and instead he’s hard, trembling lines of arousal. It’s stunning. Jeno holds him firm around his thin waist and feels his breath, his heartbeat, his tongue.</p><p>Jaemin lies underneath the fluid-line, looking encased in a heat mirage, and Jeno watches him tip up slowly. Renjun lowers back onto his heels and Jeno has both of his eyes, watches as Jaemin breaks surface and picks himself up, head hanging as his side glows a stunning sunrise pink.</p><p>“Do it to him,” Renjun prods, letting go of him and stepping away, “if you want.”</p><p>It’s weird because by the time Renjun’s sat back down to lower himself under and Jeno has made his way over to Jaemin, dripping in dollops, it’s like his skin has either sloughed most of what was clinging to him away or absorbed the fluid entirely. He feels weirdly supple and plush, like a sponge himself, without feeling swollen. His wrists are still slim when he gathers Jaemin in his arms. His skin is just vaguely flushed with the barest sheen of gloss.</p><p>He wonders if he would look differently if he checked a mirror as he pushes back Jaemin’s hair and sees his demon-messy smile.</p><p>Jaemin’s lips are sweet, the skin of his face smooth, his eyelashes fine and fragile against his tongue. Jeno feels warm and heavy, trailing the tip of his tongue around the gentle creases of Jaemin’s eye.</p><p>By the time Renjun comes up for air, Jaemin is blinking at him. There’s a pink furl of Jaemin's tattoo curling around his nipple, and Jeno can see it’s just his skin, but he swears the pattern is living.</p><p>Jaemin kisses his now-dry cheek before passing to Renjun, the fluid has risen above the jut of Jeno’s sex, and he doesn’t have to ask himself what more there is before he sees it.</p><p>The bulbs near the top of the hole part the slit at their tips, breaking open and slowly dropping to the eddying pool these long, gently pink tendrils.</p><p>He reaches out to touch one as it lowers—just before it breaches the surface and just as he can see Renjun and Jaemin, both eyes open, start to kiss in his periphery. The little tendril jolts a little, as if surprised, then reacts, curling around his index finger like a climbing vine.</p><p>Around him, every bud has opened up and dropped pale rose strands hardly thicker than a bicycle spoke. He doesn’t pull his finger away as it continues to twist around his finger, then press its tiny, rounded tip into the center of his palm, not tugging, just winding. Under the fluid-line, there’s a weave forming of curling…Jeno’s mind makes the connection. <em> Tongues. </em>Renjun said they had tongues. None of the bottom-most pods have broken open, still soft and gently spongey and vaguely slippery.</p><p>He doesn’t startle as he feels tongues start to find his ankles, his legs. He just lets himself experience the rising pool and this new, weird addition to the experience against his conditioned skin.</p><p>And it’s not like Renjun and Jaemin disappeared from his mind entirely, but he’s incredibly invested in how the tendril has spun up past his wrist, cool and gentle, and when Renjun comes up behind him and slips his arms around his waist, he startles.</p><p>Renjun’s laugh is clear and bright, lips pressing into his shoulder, and Jeno becomes very aware of the curve of Renjun’s cock against his ass. Jaemin slips around so he’s face-to-face with Jeno, his back snug against the wall, lips pink and bitten, and for the first time, Jeno realizes he has a sort of tunnel vision going on. Every time something’s in front of his face, it’s all he can focus on.</p><p>He’s single-minded—but this is really the demon’s doing, he’s pretty sure—as Jaemin coaxes him forward with a finger and Renjun’s hands smoothing over Jeno’s abdomen.</p><p>There are tongues wrapped around his legs, but they don’t stop him from moving, from falling for Jaemin’s mouth, from whining, overwhelmed when one of Renjun’s slim hands wraps around the base of his dick and the other slides back in the fluid to sluice right down to his anus.</p><p>Jaemin tugs Jeno’s bottom lip between his teeth, and he’s lost. </p><p>He has his hands on Jaemin’s waist, one vine wound all the way up to his elbow, Renjun slowly stroking at his cock and massaging his anus with the pad of his thumb and his perineum with his fingertips, coaxing his legs apart. Jaemin tastes like demon—like while he was down under, he took an entire mouthful, and Jeno finds himself chasing it, shaking breaths out of his nose while Jaemin holds his jaw and strokes through his hair.</p><p>That first time in his studio apartment, he could feel himself being lulled and losing focus, but he doesn’t remember how he got this deep. Maybe it started with them. Maybe it started with Jaemin pulling him over the threshold and Renjun touching him in the stairwell.</p><p>One moment, Jaemin’s stroking the ridges at the top of Jeno’s mouth with his tongue and Renjun’s pressing ever so slightly past his anus. The next moment, Jeno feels a starlette of pricks around his nipple and his pec is flooded with heat.</p><p>He gasps, heat flowing up his neck and arcing through his mind, and he feels his cock <em> weep </em> and pulse even amid the fluid that’s crept up to their chests. Renjun’s thumb rubs firm up the vein on the underside of Jeno’s cock, and Jaemin lets Jeno break the kiss to look down. He rests his forehead on Jaemin’s as he looks down at the floret that’s split from the tongue’s tip like a tiny, five-prong star.</p><p>It’s clinging to his skin, looped from all the way up his arm, and he has a dozen twisting up his legs like ribbons of rose. Each of them have those little rounded, swollen tips that he failed to notice when he looked the first time. Each one with the capacity to probably split and bite.</p><p>“Am I okay?” he asks, high and slurred, and Jaemin strokes his face.</p><p>“You’re wonderful,” he hears from behind him where Renjun’s extracted his fingers from between his legs and moves to rubbing his hip. Jeno feels Jaemin cradle his jaw, kiss his cheek, and then there’s another star of sharp pricks just off at an angle to his navel. The heat ricochets through his nerves and he’s barely caught by the both of them before falling into Jaemin. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”</p><p>He biologically won’t ever experience a true hot flash, but he imagines this must be comparable as two or three waves of heat crash through him and render him blind. He’s unsure if it’s seconds or minutes later when the heat and numbness pass. He’s left trembling with his face pressed into the crook of Jaemin’s shoulder, shucking out short breaths as his brain is cradled back into lucidity. <em> Near </em>-lucidity, but he can recognize this feeling. The one where he feels honeyed from the inside-out.</p><p>This is familiar, and he’s discarded the ability to be afraid.</p><p>He can feel at least five points of contact down his body from where he’s been latched onto, heart beating rapidly but peacefully in those stars of teeth. He feels more relaxed than he would have after both a massage and a long shower, like he’s moving through thick water when he lifts himself out of Renjun’s hold.</p><p>“Part your legs a little for me, sweetheart?” urges Jaemin gently, and Jeno steps out just enough with a shuddering breath for Renjun to press the tip of his finger into his rectum to probe him once before slipping back out. Jeno rolls with heat, cock erect, lungs flinching, tethered by a bunch of demon tongues forcing him into a horny, painless haze, and the parts of his body in the open air sweating like he’s a sinner in church.</p><p>He’s absolutely not at all in church.</p><p>Jaemin tilts Jeno back inward, Jeno’s lips against his mouth with a tingling prayer. “This is when it starts getting a little weird,” he whispers, and Jeno feels like he’s crawling under the earth, smothered, but just barely breathing. “Relax, breathe. They won’t hurt you.”</p><p>Jeno sinks his lips into the corner of Jaemin’s mouth, trails to his ear, kisses the soft, sweaty skin under his lobe, slow. Renjun rubs circles at the bottom of Jeno’s spine, holds his cock steady, and then he feels it.</p><p>Three little points pressing into his rectum, opening him up to the fluids, one floret sinking tiny teeth into the ring of muscle until he’s relaxing from a rush of heat and numbness and pleasure, and then his cock. He feels a tip tease his slit and his breath comes heavy up through his lungs. He thinks <em> yellow, </em>but Jaemin’s stroking through his hair and sucking on his earlobe and Renjun’s kissing the bones of his neck and christ—the tiny bulbous head slips into his urethra.</p><p>“Don’t move,” Jaemin tells him, and Jeno hardly breathes.</p><p>The vines weave up into his rectum, the single tongue slides soft down through his dick. It’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced to the point that he’s just a band of flesh and muscle shaking with incomprehensible pleasure and nothing more.</p><p>His core burns, he trembles, he gasps against Jaemin’s neck as everything shivers and pulses. He doesn’t feel it coming when one head blooms in his rectum and sinks its tiny demon teeth right up into his prostate.</p><p>He bites down on Jaemin’s neck in a strangled groan, and Jaemin gasps his own high sound of pleasure, the grip he has on Jeno’s jaw shaking.</p><p>Heat shatters through Jeno like lava breaking through his skin, and he sees white.</p><p>But he doesn’t <em> come</em>. </p><p>The tendril in his urethra thickens just slightly and absolutely nothing releases. </p><p>He can only tilt his head back, breath thin and wheezing, choking on pleasure that just keeps stirring up his insides and his brain, skull hitting Renjun’s narrow shoulder. </p><p>He’s a live wire pulsing with a heartbeat that’s knocked him into synchrony, the whole world thrumming with him, Renjun’s breath in his ear in perfect rhythm with the shuddering crashes in his own lungs.</p><p>His gaze is toward the ceiling, but sees a whole lot of nothing.</p><p>Jaemin finds Jeno’s tilted pec with his mouth, the contact hot and wide, half submerged in fluid, and Jeno has only just a few seconds to process the pleasure of Jaemin’s lips and tongue on his free nipple on top of everything else when Renjun moves the hand he forgot entirely was wrapped around his base.</p><p>The pleasure makes him spasm with a near-scream leaking out of his mouth. Renjun’s barely touching the skin of his cock and he feels like pleasure is taking mouthfuls of pleasure out of his insides until he’s keening like a crystal glass.</p><p>Orgasms begin to roll, bleaching his vision in pulses. Nothing is pink. It’s all white and grey and black specks of dust in the corners of his vision.</p><p>Renjun’s knuckle bumps his frenulum and Jeno convulses as someone tugs on the tongue in his urethra.</p><p>He’s hiccuping breaths, lungs flinching with the slow, slow tug that leaks his soul out through a thin, thin opening.</p><p>The tendril’s plucked out completely, and the release is so intense the room goes black.</p>
<hr/><p><em> “Jeno.” </em>A whisper grazing the shell of his ear. “Honey.”</p><p>There’s a chest rising and falling under his back and a hand smoothing gently over his abdomen. He feels absolutely unreal—bones removed, body cleaned out, everything put back in carefully, delicately, just right.</p><p>“Jesus,” he tells the ceiling, and the body under him shakes with laughter, palm warm over his navel and soft lips pressing into his ear.</p><p>He finds his arms after a moment and moves them to behind him, trying to push himself up, but finds his puppet strings a little weak even if he feels like he was topped from bottom to tip with honey and sunrise. </p><p>Renjun enters his vision, looking tall from where Jeno lies on the floor in Jaemin’s arms. And positively aglow. There’s a ring of pink design around his bicep, not nearly as sprawling as Jaemin’s, but still lovely.</p><p>He sits down next to Jeno’s hip and Jaemin’s knee, drifting his hand up to Jaemin’s thigh muscles and rubbing there. “I want you to know,” Renjun says, and his voice sounds amazingly ruined, rushing a pale flush of hot endearment through Jeno’s throat, “that the only reason why we’re still moving is because we’ve done this before.”</p><p>“And I asked Flor to focus on you,” Jaemin mumbles, kissing Jeno’s temple.</p><p>There’s sunlight leaking in through the window in late warmth, the shutters slotted open again. Jeno doesn’t feel even vaguely nasty and uncomfortable like he had the first time—just weak as all hell.</p><p>“Flor?” he mumbles. His voice isn’t in better shape, really. He’s genuinely never heard himself sound so rusty.</p><p>“We <em> name </em> our demons,” Renjun grins. The band around his bicep is fading, the pink sinking into the mere, soft afterglow tinting his skin. His hair is glossy like silk, fallen over his eyes, and he’s still entirely naked. Jaemin is, too, by the feel of it.</p><p>“Do your demons,” Jeno starts, then clears his throat out of necessity, “always go this hard?”</p><p>Jaemin’s laugh sends chills of delight through the lax muscles of Jeno’s back. “They do their best,” he tells him, then pushes gently against his body until he’s seated and his mind is swimming in little swirls. Renjun raises his hand to press his fingers against Jeno’s sternum to keep him from swaying forward. Jeno can see these tiny pink pricks around his right nipple—nothing garish enough to scar, but utterly fascinating. He can see more star-shaped prints down his naked body, small and greater in number than he realized.</p><p>Jaemin’s lips skate down Jeno’s neck and over his shoulder. “We’re going to help you up then get you into a salt bath,” he mumbles warm against his skin, and Jeno shivers when he feels a bit of tongue slipping soft over his skin.</p><p>Jeno lifts his head, though the feeling is slow and laggy. The room is the same sans the summon circle, completely vanished. Their clothes are folded or scattered about the room. The floor digs into the bone of his ass.</p><p>“Okay,” he says and is able to shift his arm to trip into Renjun’s grip, tangling his fingers and swaying in for his swollen lips.</p><p>“Hi,” Renjun says into the kiss. “Hi, baby.”</p><p>The warmth that spreads through Jeno isn’t erotic or delirious, but it is perhaps affected. He still wonders if they’re precisely human, if he’s being lured into an unorthodox romance with a couple of incubi. </p><p>Jaemin strokes down the line of his spine, fingertips soft and dry and light, chasing shivers through his skin. The kiss is lazy, dripping in the evening sun drooping through the window.</p><p>Renjun breaks from Jeno’s mouth to stand, holding Jeno’s hand and wrist and elbow as Jaemin pushes him up into the most pathetic attempt at gaining his feet Jeno’s ever managed. He’s got two boys holding onto thim, though, and he huffs a laugh into Renjun’s body.</p><p>“You did so well,” Renjun assures him while Jaemin loops Jeno’s arm over his neck. Jaemin glows, too, sugar and rose gold running through him.</p><p>They help him up the stairs, slow and with snippets of warm encouragement, and he asks them then.</p><p>“Are you two human? Like. Completely?”</p><p>From the step above, Jaemin looks down at Renjun with a pensive gleam in his open expression, and Renjun hums from the step behind.</p><p>“If we aren’t now, we were,” he says as Jaemin cracks open the door at the top of the stairs. Jeno’s legs are slowly regaining life, and he’s stopped almost tripping over every other step. “I can’t say for sure, but—” He laughs a little as they break into the middle floor of the townhome. Everything feels so completely different with its photographs and puzzle and small kitchen just around the corner Jeno’s yet to see. A totally different world. “—I still feel human.”</p><p>Jaemin kisses Renjun’s cheek in the hallway landing, then Jeno’s as he stands on his own, still a little shaky but keeping his feet. “We’ll tell you sometime what the technicalities are. For now, you can count on us being human.”</p><p>“You’re very attractive,” Jeno says as he’s led into the sitting room, eyes on the open front windows and empty streets and grateful he’s not flashing passerby with demonic post-coital.</p><p>They both laugh this time, Jaemin pulling him up to the last stretch of stairs, passing their shoes and socks at the front. Renjun isn’t even subtle giving Jeno’s ass a fondle. “Maybe you just like us,” Renjun suggests as Jaemin squeezes Jeno’s hand. Jaemin’s smile is tilted down at the steps he takes with his long legs.</p><p><em> Looking for a third, </em> Jeno remembers, and a heavy <em> “Yes, okay.” </em>as an answer weighs pleasantly in his limbs.</p><p>“Maybe,” he says instead, because he would like time to know them more, to fall for them more. He’s sure it’s possible, and if he’s wrong, then he’ll figure it out. They seem alright, though. Amazing, even. “Maybe I just like you.”</p><p>“That’s good,” Jaemin says, pulling him up the last step with a small tug and that same magnetic pull the both of them exude. “We think we like you a lot.” And maybe that's just it, really—human, but already smitten with him. Jeno, drawn to a dual light that wants him there.</p><p><em> “Yes, okay,” </em> he thinks again. He doesn't just want to try the wild demon sex, he wants to try them, know them, everything. <em> “Yes.” </em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Some of you asked for a Markhyuck in this universe! Click the arrow leading to the second work in "The Art of Entanglement" for their story ♡ </p><p>Once again, thank you for the supportive reception to this work. I ended up putting a lot of heart into this universe despite it being a filthy demon-fucker sort of thing. Truly. Thank you.</p><p>If you read this far and enjoyed, please let me know with a comment or kudo!! ♡ </p><p>
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